


To Swim In Strange Water

by Anzieizna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Human Sacrifice, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Slow Burn, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Village life, Wolf Derek Hale, a mix of humour and angst, abuse of italics i'm sorry but i love them, because everyone from teen wolf has at least one dead family member, emotional backstories, i don't treat deaton well in this sorry, minor scott and sheriff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23848258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anzieizna/pseuds/Anzieizna
Summary: Stiles looked upwards, where the full moon had finally reached its peak, and closed his eyes.Right before he fell into oblivion, he heard the sound of crackling bones, and swore he felt a human hand touch his own.--- OR: ---Stiles' village sacrifices him to save themselves from the wolves in the forest. Yet, once out there, Stiles wonders who he should be more afraid of: the monstrous creatures he'd feared all his life, or the ones who had taught him to fear them in the first place.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 119
Kudos: 591





	1. What Sharp Teeth, You Have!

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Rabbit Hearted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446253) by [secondstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar), [Tsuminoaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuminoaru/pseuds/Tsuminoaru). 



> Title comes from the quote _"Survival comes from the ability to swim in strange water,"_ by Frank Herbert.
> 
> This is my first multi-chapter fic in this fandom and it is... intense. I didn't really think it'd be so violent until I realised, "hey, your main character LITERALLY gets sacrificed in the first chapter so go figure." I personally don't think it's too bad, but I'll be leaving warnings in the end notes if you're sensitive to that kind of thing.
> 
> This was originally inspired by _Rabbit Hearted by secondstar and Tsuminoaru_ which is an amazing fic and definitely worth your time to read. Go check it out!
> 
> I hope I delivered these characters justice and that you'll enjoy it. Thank you for reading <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from the quote _"Survival comes from the ability to swim in strange water,"_ by Frank Herbert.
> 
> This is my first multi-chapter fic in this fandom and it is... intense. I didn't really think it'd be so violent until I realised, "hey, your main character LITERALLY gets sacrificed in the first chapter so go figure." I personally don't think it's too bad, but I'll be leaving warnings in the end notes if you're sensitive to that kind of thing.
> 
> This was originally inspired by _Rabbit Hearted by secondstar and Tsuminoaru_ which is an amazing fic and definitely worth your time to read. Go check it out!
> 
> I hope I delivered these characters justice and that you'll enjoy it. Thank you for reading <3

The bonfire was large, probably the largest it had ever been, its crimson flames licking high into the sky. Villagers of all ages stood around it, anxiously whispering amongst themselves, trying not to look too obvious as they stared at the elders' council who were conversing quietly, deep frowns on their faces.

Stiles felt the strong urge to bite his nails and resisted. He sat on his hands, knowing it was the only way to avoid the impulse, and instead channelled all his energy into bouncing his knee. He knew it was annoying, but he couldn’t help it. In the corner of his eye he could see other villagers eyeing him disdainfully, casting his knee an annoyed look and whispering to the person next to them. But no matter how hard he tried, his body wouldn’t stop buzzing, and his mind wouldn’t stop whirring.

He couldn’t relax for a second.

Suddenly, a hand came down on his knee. He looked to his side, shoulders slumping when he saw it was just Scott.

His best friend sat close to him, looking him over worriedly. “You don’t look so good, Stiles.”

“ _Gee,_ I fucking wonder why!” He sighed when Scott flinched, dragging a hand down his face. “Sorry. I – I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Scott offered him a smile. “It’s okay, I don’t exactly blame you.” He looked away, eyes settling on a man in the midst of the council. “Has your dad told you anything?”

Stiles followed his gaze and sighed.

The news had come only a few hours ago. A village to the south, nestled within a valley – Stiles remembered visiting with his father only months ago, collecting feathers for the ill and sharing stories with the young. They’d all been so happy, so innocent, smiling at him with big grins and uneven teeth. There’d been a few girls he’d looked at, that his dad had teased him over, and he’d been looking forward to the next time he’d visit.

Except that couldn’t happen now.

Because they were all dead.

“He hasn’t said a word to me,” Stiles answered Scott’s question. “Ever since Argent came back, he’s been pulled into speaking with the elders a lot. Like, a _lot_. I don’t think he even heard me calling his name.”

Scott made a sympathetic noise. “He’s the chief of the village, I’m sure he’s just busy. They’ll answer all our questions soon enough.”

Stiles nodded, watching the council with hawk-like eyes. The entire village was gathered together, practically _buzzing_ as they waited to hear the news. Who’d killed all those villagers? Were they next? How were they supposed to protect themselves?

Argent, the village’s lead huntsman, had found the trails a few hours ago. It was supposed to be a simple trip, a hunt for rabbits and nothing more. Instead, they found an entire village ransacked. Their tents were ripped and their beds were scattered, all their supplies stolen. There’d been bodies, too. Thrown across the ground carelessly, throats torn out in such a violent way that the only culprit could have been the devil.

The hunting party, consisting of Argent and his daughter, Allison, had returned to the village quickly. Stiles remembered watching them from afar as they rushed to his father. He hadn’t known what it was about, just thought they might have found a bear or a fox around, returned to his day without a second of hesitation.

Then someone overheard what the council was talking about. Death, murder, _massacre_. 

Gossip didn’t take too long to travel in a village as small as their own.

Stiles shook his head, dispelling the memory from his head, and turned to Scott. “So did you get anywhere on the Allison front?”

“No, she wouldn’t tell me anything.” He pouted. “I don’t get it – we _love_ each other, why wouldn’t she tell me about something as serious as this?”

“She’s set to be the next lead hunter, Scott,” Stiles reminded him. “She’s going to be loyal to her dad and the chief above anyone else. If they told her not to say anything, she wouldn’t.”

Scott sighed wistfully, cupping his chin. “She _is_ loyal, isn’t she? By the gods, she’s amazing…”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything more a body sat on his other side.

“Mom!” Scott cried, grabbing for her hand and ignoring Stiles’ squawking as he reached across him. “Did the council tell you anything? Did Deaton?”

Everyone knew Scott’s mother, Melissa, was the resident healer in the village. Her duties often overlapped with the village’s druid, Deaton. Deaton led the village in terms of spirit, delivering on any messages from the gods as well as advising the chief on his leadership. Melissa’s healing work meant the two often worked together, trying to find out the cause of this year’s plague or how to bless someone’s injury.

Stiles expected her to reassure them, or maybe tell them to mind their own business. Instead, the woman scowled. “I didn’t talk to Deaton.”

“You didn’t?” Scott and Stiles shared a look. “Why not?”

“Deaton and I aren’t… on the best of terms right now.” She smiled at them. “But you two shouldn’t worry about that, it has nothing to do with you. Let’s just wait for the chief to call a meeting. I did speak to your father, though, Stiles, and he told me to remind you not to chew your nails if you were nervous.”

She cast a significant look down to his hands, and Stiles was startled to see he’d started biting them without even noticing. He sighed, pulling away to apologise, but before he could say anything, a horn was blown.

Everyone’s heads snapped towards the bonfire, where the chief was standing with a serious look on his face, his posture tall and his lip stiff. Beside him stood a hunched over man, a dark furred cloak covering his head, and in the light Stiles could see that he was frowning just as much as his father. He watched over the village with a grave expression, his dark skin covered in spiralled tattoos and ancient symbols.

The village’s druid – Deaton.

The chief and Deaton exchanged a look before Stiles’ father stepped forward, a hush falling over the village almost immediately. “By now, I’m sure you’ve all heard about what happened to the southern valley. Yes, it is true: Argent found the entire village killed and their homes torn apart. There was no one left alive.”

Stiles’ leg bounced as someone in the crowd yelled, “who did it? Who could do such a thing?”

Instead of answering, the chief called forth another man. Stiles recognised him as Argent, a bow pulled across his chest and a severe glower on his face. “My daughter and I looked all over the village. We were hoping someone would be left alive, to tell us what happened, but we had to resort to looking for prints for our answers.”

“Was it another village?” A woman quivered. “Are we at war?”

Argent shook his head. “It wasn’t another village. It wasn’t a human. The prints were those of a wolf.”

The villagers grew louder, some gasping and some scoffing. Scott frowned and turned to Stiles. “Since when do wolves live in this forest?”

“They don’t,” Stiles whispered, his mind travelling quickly, and looked to the council as he raised his voice. “Wolves haven’t lived in this forest for over sixty years.”

Argent scanned the crowd until he found Stiles. He rolled his eyes, casting the boy an irritated look and said, “thank you, Stiles. I’m well aware of that. But I’m also a seasoned hunter who’s had forty years of experience. I think I know a wolf trail when I see one.”

Stiles grumbled at the look Argent sent him, like he was leagues better than him, but stayed silent. Someone in the crowd stepped forward, their gaunt cocky and their face unimpressed, and as soon as they spoke Stiles scoffed.

“Wolves? That’s it?”

Stiles and Scott looked at each other and sighed. Jackson was one of the elders’ sons, his father’s position giving him lots of pull in the village – and a big ego to boot. He’d never left Stiles or Scott alone, bullying them as if putting two random teenagers in their place proved he was strong. Even now, faced with the horror of an entire village slaughtered by wolves, Jackson looked like he didn’t consider it a problem.

“We can kill a few wolves. We have spears and arrows, they have _claws_. They’re no match for us.”

“It’s more than that,” Argent spat. “If you’d sit your ass down for _once_ and stop acting like someone died and made you chief, maybe you’d learn to hear the whole story.”

“Hey!” One of the elders marched forward with a wicked glare. “Don’t talk to my son that way.”

“I’ll talk to him however I like. Our lives are in danger and he’s acting like it isn’t an issue. Get your son in order, Whittemore, before I do something about it.”

Whittemore held his gaze for a moment before turning away with a growl, spitting at Argent as he left. Argent remained unimpressed, simply staring at his back before turning to the village. “These wolves are different. We can’t defeat them with spears and arrows – they’re bigger, more dangerous. They weren’t normal. They weren’t _natural_.”

Stiles blinked. “What are you saying?” he asked dubiously. “That they were… _demons?”_

Argent turned towards Deaton, who stepped forward. “That may just be it,” he said, his voice echoing in the ensuing silence. “Chief Stilinski and I believe it may be the gods, punishing us with these demons for our wrongdoings. The myth of the wolves is well documented – bloodthirsty monsters who roamed out on the full moon, looking for anyone and anything to kill.” He dragged his eyes across the span of the crowd, ever so slow, and Stiles could have sworn they’d rested on him a second longer. “There is only one solution to this. We must give a sacrifice.”

The village was silent. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. In the distance, you could hear the calls of owls, the crackling of bonfire. Stiles looked around to find other villagers also watching each other, edging away silently. Stiles’ mind flickered to when Deaton’s eyes had lingered on him. A black hole began to grow in his stomach. He ignored it.

Beside him, Melissa straightened and levelled Deaton with cold eyes. “What kind of sacrifice?” she asked steadily. “What do you think we must give up to appease the gods?”

“A human sacrifice.”

Instantly, the village erupted into noise. A mix of cries and cheers, everyone grabbing onto their family members and holding tight. Stiles bit at his nails and stared straight at his father, eyes wide. When he found a purposeful wall built up, to prevent anyone from reading his emotions, he chewed until his skin was tender and red. Scott swatted at him, face concerned, and Stiles shook himself.

“A human sacrifice,” Deaton started, waiting until the village quieted, “is the only way to ensure these wolves don’t come our way. Do you wish to perish, just as the southern village did?”

Nobody said anything, and the man nodded decisively.

“Then we call upon our untouched youths.” He lifted his hands to the stars. “Come forth, under this moon, to determine who will give up their life for the greater good.”

Stiles froze at the words.

_Untouched youths._

He looked down at himself, at his hands, and felt his blood turn to ice.

 _He means virgins,_ he thought to himself, looking aside to see Scott just as terrified as him _. He means me_.

Stiles realised his father’s grim expression finally made sense. Stiles was to go up there, to stand amongst the other children of the village, to be one of the offers to the gods. Scott was lucky, his relationship with Allison having saved him, but Stiles knew he was still scared for him.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles stepped forward. He vaguely recognised a few of the others who joined him – Liam, a boy whose temper had stopped him from garnering a partner; Kira, a girl who had made it clear she’d been more interested in hunting than anything else; Theo, a boy who’d scared everyone off with a dark glare.

They all walked forward, looking up at Deaton in dismay, when Stiles saw something in the corner of his eyes. He stared wide-eyed at Jackson, who’d stepped forward with his eyes glued to the ground. Stiles blinked a few times, surprised – Jackson exuded such confidence that Stiles had assumed he hadn’t been a virgin for a _long_ time, and his obsession with Lydia, one of the most sought-after girls in the village, wasn’t a secret.

As though sensing his stare, Jackson cut a cold glare at Stiles. Stiles jumped, his cheeks flaring as he snapped his eyes forward.

Deaton stalked towards them with a knife, holding it out for them to see. “This is a ritual knife. I will be cutting your palm and reading your blood. This will tell me which of you is to be sacrificed.”

The more Deaton spoke, the fuzzier his words became. Stiles was only aware of them in the background, focusing more on keeping his breath even than listening as more and more children were cut. Their wincing and whimpering was background noise, something he couldn’t make himself listen to until a shadow fell over him.

Deaton stopped in front of him. He grabbed Stiles’ chin, gripping hard enough that the boy could feel his nails leaving marks in his skin. Deaton’s eyes were void, almost hollow, and Stiles felt a shiver travel down his back.

The knife cut quickly, making Stiles hiss, and Deaton studied the blood intensely. Stiles waited with bated breath until the man nodded, giving him a brief look before moving on.

Stiles’ shoulders sagged. That was good, right? Deaton wouldn’t have left if Stiles had been the sacrifice, surely. Deaton hadn’t looked angry, or scared, like he’d seen a vision or something. He just looked as he normally did – standoffish, and like he knew everyone’s secrets, but not like he’d just found the solution to their wolfy problem.

Stiles breathed deep as Deaton walked to Jackson, the last person in line. He had to drag Jackson’s hand up, the boy refusing for a moment, before the knife slid across the skin. Instantly, Stiles could see something was different. The druid’s brows furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and he was holding Jackson’s hand so tight it was beginning to shake. He dipped his finger in the blood and lifted it to the sky, staring for what felt like an eternity.

Then, abruptly, as if nothing happened, Deaton stepped away.

Stiles watching with eagle eyes as Deaton made his way back to the elders. Next to him, Jackson’s breath was coming fast. It was clear he knew something was wrong too – the council was whispering amongst themselves, raspy and harsh.

Strangely, Stiles could have sworn Deaton was looking directly at Whittemore. The latter’s eyes were wide, panicked, and he gripped Deaton’s shoulders roughly. The druid looked unmoved, meeting his gaze evenly before turning to the village once more.

“The sacrifice has been determined,” he said. “We know who will save our village.”

Stiles’ eyes went to Jackson and he winced. The boy looked terrified, his skin pale. Stiles sighed.

He’d never liked Jackson – Jackson made a point to bully Stiles almost all his life, strutting around the village like he owned it, and bragged constantly about his hunting and fighting skills. Jackson wasn’t a nice guy, not by far, but he didn’t deserve _this_. Nobody did.

“The sacrifice…”

Stiles cast Jackson a sorrowful look.

“For this village…”

 _Poor guy,_ he thought, and closed his eyes, _he doesn’t deserve this._

“Is Stiles.”

Stiles froze.

Had Deaton just…?

He had snapped his head up. Deaton was staring right at him.

Okay – he had. Deaton really did say that. Deaton just said Stiles’ name. He’d just announced Stiles as the village’s sacrifice.

Around him, Stiles could hear people yelling. Parents clutching their children happily, thankful it wasn’t them; Scott calling his name, insisting it had to be a mistake; Melissa crying, begging the gods to change their minds. The loudest, however, were his father’s whispered _‘no’s_. Silent to the rest of the village, but far too loud in Stiles’ head.

“Me?” he echoed. “B-but… but I thought Jackson—”

“It was you,” Deaton said. “You were chosen, Stiles. It. Was. You.”

At his side, Jackson was staring at Stiles with owlish eyes. Then his gaze went over his shoulder and he swallowed. Stiles followed his eyes, curious, and turned to see Jackson had been staring at his father, who stood close to Deaton. Almost _threateningly_ close.

Stiles blinked.

“The chief’s son has been chosen to save our village,” Deaton announced. “It will happen tonight, under the light of the moon, before the wolves are given more time to attack us.”

“Wait, me?” Stiles croaked, still processing it. “Me? But… how, I, I though that—”

“Stiles.” Deaton materialised before him, and now his eyes really _did_ look hollow. “We must move quickly to the forest if we want to get this done before the moon goes down.”

Stiles was numb as his body was moved, shoved, away from the bonfire. The elders of the village formed a circle around him, carrying torches and spears, whilst the rest of the village followed behind with loud yelling.

Stiles wasn’t paying attention to them, however. Instead his eyes were glued to the figure leading the crowd – the chief, his _father_ , who hadn’t even looked at Stiles since the words had been said, who hadn’t said a thing or made a single noise, instead just mechanically walking with the crowd as if everything was okay.

They stopped at a clearing, the buzzing of the villagers only growing louder as the elders stepped forward to paint symbols on Stiles’ body. His face and arms were slathered with paste, the material manipulated into strange twists and turns until it felt like not an inch of his skin was untouched.

The moment they stepped away, satisfied with their work, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around him. With a jolt Stiles recognised the feel of Scott around him, and he clung tightly and buried his head in the boy’s neck. A gentle hand combed through his hair, and he knew Melissa was there too.

The boys pulled back, resting their foreheads against each other as they breathed. “I can’t believe this,” Scott said. “This is... _fuck_ , holy _fuck_ , how is this even possible?” Normally, Melissa would have chided him to watch his language, but she looked just as distraught as she cradled Stiles’ jaw.

“You guys have to take care of my dad, okay?” Stiles said quickly. “It was hard enough after Mom died, you can’t let him spiral down again.”

“We promise,” Melissa said, then shook her head. “How could this have happened? I watched you, and Deaton reacted to your reading just like everybody else’s.”

 _Not everybody’s_ , Stiles thought as he remembered the way Deaton had studied Jackson’s blood. He shook his head, not wanting to waste time thinking of that. “I’m really going to miss you. Both of you.”

“I just can’t believe it,” Scott said, blinking away tears in his eyes. “You’re my best friend, Stiles.”

“You’re mine too, Scott,” Stiles whimpered, shaking his head. “Fuck.”

They whispered amongst themselves for a few more moments before Melissa pulled at Scott’s shoulder. She pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead, letting them hug once more before dragging her son away, ignoring his protests. Stiles was left alone for a moment until his dad appeared before him and snatched him into his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” the chief said, his voice shaking. “I tried to talk to Deaton, son, I tried to talk him out of it—”

“Dad—”

“I talked about inanimate sacrifices, said maybe we could give up an animal instead—”

“Dad—”

“But he was set on it, wouldn’t let me get a word in. I tired to change his mind, I tried, by the _gods_ did I try, Stiles I promise, but—”

“Dad!”

_“What?!”_

Stiles breathed. He couldn’t stop the tears. “I love you, Dad.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other. His father shook his head. “I love you too, son.” The chief pulled Stiles into another hug, pulling away to grip his shoulders with a final nod. Then he turned and walked away.

Stiles watched him without feeling, his whole body numb, when a figure came between them. It blocked his dad from view, and Stiles blinked in surprise to see Jackson standing before him.

“Jackson?” Stiles frowned. He didn’t really expect his bully of all people to say goodbye to him, but maybe the experience was traumatic enough that the boy changed his ways.

Jackson stared at him with blank eyes. “I’m so sorry, Stiles.”

Stiles frowned. “Sorry? What for?”

“I didn’t know he’d do this,” Jackson continued, looking through Stiles, “I didn’t ask for this, I promise.”

“Jackson, what are you—”

“But I’m… I’m really scared, and. He told me not to say anything.” Jackson swallowed, coming back to himself. “I’m sorry, Stiles.”

Then he walked off without a word. Right to Whittemore. Who looked straight at Stiles.

Something in Stiles snapped, and he jumped. “Wait,” he cried, looking around for his father. “Wait, Dad, where’s Deaton, I think—”

Without warning, a hand wrapped around his mouth. Stiles stilled as he felt breath stirring his hair and a knife at his back. He didn’t have to look behind him to know who it was.

“Stay quiet,” Deaton’s voice whispered. “The gods chose, Stiles, and it was you. _Accept it_. I’ll lead you into the forest,” he said, kicking Stiles into action. “You’ll be handed to the wolves, to our gods.”

As if waiting for their mention, the night air filled with howls. Stiles’ breath quickened as he was led further into the forest, farther away from his people, his friends, his dad. He couldn’t speak, struck silent as Deaton led him into the darkness.

The next few moments went by in a flash. There was a searing pain in his side, something entering and twisting in the span of a second, before he was thrown to the ground. Stiles turned onto his back, crying out as he watched Deaton wipe blood off his knife.

The druid spoke words in a foreign language, lifting his hand to the sky. The wolves howled once more and, for the first time, Stiles noticed it was a full moon.

He tried to move but it was too painful, crying out as he clutched his side in agony.

“You will save our village,” Deaton told him. “You’ll save Scott, your father. We will all be thankful for your sacrifice.”

If Stiles had all his wits, he would have yelled back at Deaton. Or maybe spat at him. That seemed easier, but even that simple action caused Stiles to cry out and fall.

Before he knew it, Deaton was gone. The forest around him was dark and the howls kept growing louder and louder. The moon was the only source of light, but instead of providing a comfort, it only served to remind Stiles that, in mere seconds, he’d be killed by wild, murderous wolves.

He tried to move, got as far as slumping against a tree before collapsing. His entire side was covered in blood, spilling out fast, and if the wolves didn’t get to him first he was sure blood loss would.

Stiles closed his eyes, ready to give up, when the bush opposite him rustled. He looked up just in time to see a large black wolf step out, bigger than any dog Stiles had even seen. Its claws were sharper than spears, cutting into the ground under its feet, and its eyes were redder than the blood running down Stiles’ skin.

It watched Stiles from afar, looking him up and down as if sizing up a piece of prey. When it stepped forward Stiles flailed, almost thinking he imaged it when the wolf paused. It stared some more, waiting for him to calm down before making another attempt to walk forward.

Stiles panicked, reading blindly for the ground. He grabbed hold of what felt like a rock and hurled it as hard as he could. For a moment he blanched, thinking that there was no way a tiny rock like that could hurt this behemoth of a wolf, but before he could try to run off the wolf whimpered.

He froze, waiting with wide eyes until the creature lifted its head so he could see. It pawed at its face urgently, growling and pulled away to reveal a scratch running down its nose.

A small part of Stiles felt proud, felt good about hurting the wolf and leaving a scratch. The bigger part of him, however, was terrified at what it would do in retribution.

Almost as if in answer, the wolf lifted its head and howled. The noise was loud, extremely so, and travelled through Stiles’ bones until he felt like he was going to break. The ground shook from the howl’s echoes. Then Stiles realised that it wasn’t shaking because of the _howl_ – it was shaking because there was someone coming, _multiple someones_ , all running towards him and making the dirt rumble in its place.

Beside the black wolf appeared another, then another, then another, until there were so many that Stiles couldn’t count. He sat in silent horror as more and more wolves seemed to gather around him, staring at him impassively yet intently, like he was a useless scrap of fur they didn’t care for but which had the potential to be an interesting experiment.

Stiles didn’t like that. He really, _really_ didn’t like that.

The first wolf stepped forward, its head lowered, and this time Stiles was too weak to protest. He tensed as the wolf rounded him, eyeing his side carefully before stepping forward to sniff at it. Stiles closed his eyes, ready to feel the pain of jaws around his body, when a gentle tongue laved across his side.

He cried out, body spasming with pain, and the wolf jumped back with wide eyes. Stiles writhed a few moments more before falling still, completely drained of energy. When he opened his eyes again, it was to see the wolf staring at him almost worriedly.

It waved its tail and the pack moved. As if following a command, the other creatures stalked forward until they surrounded Stiles. He tried to move, to fight back, but they kept pressing closer and closer until every inch of his skin was covered in fur.

Suddenly, they stopped moving. Stiles waited for them to bite or claw him, but instead of doing any of that, the wolves simply laid down.

After a second of hesitation, Stiles let out a breath. It almost felt like a blanket – except _no,_ these were wolves, and not only that, they were wolves who had killed an entire village and _he was next_. They were dangerous, deadly, and if they were trying to comfort him it was only so that his lowered guard made for an easier kill.

He ignored the voice at the back of his head, that said they couldn’t _get_ an easier kill than Stiles bleeding out right now. That if they wanted him dead, they would have killed him by now, and yet they hadn’t.

His head was starting to go dizzy from the blood loss, and he blinked blearily as he tried to stay awake. It was no use, though, because his eyelids kept falling and falling and falling.

The wolves coiled closer, almost serving as a cushion as the last vestiges of energy left his body.

Stiles looked upwards, where the full moon had finally reached its peak, and closed his eyes.

Right before he fell into oblivion, he heard the sound of crackling bones, and swore he felt a human hand touch his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a whole, this fic deals with a character who gets sacrificed and then lives with wild wolves. Needless to say, hunting and defending themselves means this fic has its fair share of blood shed. _For this specific chapter:_
> 
> • to check who to sacrifice, Deaton cuts people's palms and "reads their blood." The detail isn't graphic but may not be for you if you're squeamish about blood. You can skip the part pretty easily from _"Stiles breathed deep as Deaton walked to Jackson"_ to _"Then, abruptly, as if nothing happened, Deaton stepped away."_
> 
> • before throwing him into the forest, Deaton stabs Stiles in his side. This also isn't graphic but the pain is brought up more than once.
> 
> Chapter notes:
> 
> • the characters introduced here, including Scott, Melissa, and John Stilinski, won't be prominent for the rest of the fic but will be talked about and revisited later on.
> 
> • I'm trying to fit in random characters and elements from the show so that everything ties in rather nicely, but this means most characters are just going to be a cameo and not explored much. Sorry if I miss your favourite :(
> 
> • originally, Deaton's druid role was similar to the medicine men in many Native American tribes, which we learn about in my GCSE history class, before I realised "wait Melissa needs to be a doctor here too" and that the rest of the tribe structure (besides the elders' council) doesn't really resemble a Native American tribe. So it felt more insensitive than anything to keep calling Deaton a medicine man, and I changed his role to be a druid. Let me know if you have any different thoughts
> 
> • there's an important plot point introduced here and I wonder if anyone can spot it already... is it a *gasp* plot twist so early on??? how could it be?!?!? ok but seriously feel free to tell me any and all thoughts in the comments, i would LOVE to hear them
> 
> • I'm aiming for around 10 chapters for this fic, and have all of it planned and over half of it written. I'll then rewrite the chapters I've already written and post those, which will just be written better and (since I know what happens in the future now) I'll be able to add some foreshadowing.
> 
> Thank you for reading this chapter! Please do point out any mistakes you notice so that it's less embarrassing for me, and comments are always appreciated because I'm very self-centred (also I'm a writer and we need those to function but that's not as important). Kudos are also cool as hell <3


	2. Wait, I'm Not Dead?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter's summary:
> 
> After a neighbouring village gets killed by wolves, Stiles' village decides to sacrifice him to protect themselves. The last thing Stiles remembers is falling asleep with the wolves, who were supposed to be vicious killers, cuddling up to him.
> 
> _(I always find myself forgetting the last chapter in a long, updating fic, so I thought I'd add a short summary at the top. Let me know if it helps!)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to come out earlier but I decided a weekly update -- every Wednesday -- sounded good. Yep, that's why. Absolutely nothing to do with the new Assassin's Creed trailer and me getting distracted, no, no.
> 
> No gore warnings for this one, thankfully, so I hope you enjoy!

It took Stiles a while to wake up.

His consciousness came back in tiny pieces, like little threads that wove together to form a full memory of whatever had happened the night before. Because Stiles still wasn’t entirely sure what _actually_ happened – he had a vague memory of being carried by strong arms, his head resting against a broad chest, a low voice rumbling against his temple.

Except that couldn’t be true; there had been no humans around him, no salvation in sight, when he’d fallen asleep, there had been _no one_.

Except the wolves, of course. But the wolves certainly hadn’t saved him.

He then had a few more flash memories. Being settled on a bed that was too rough and too thin. Something grabbing his hand, and all of his pain disappearing like magic. Lying down to sleep and, instead of a pillow, laying his head on a warm, furred body.

All of it was an odd sort of comfort, something that felt like it should be dangerous, should be alarming and cause for concern. Because he was supposed to be _dead_. And if he was dead, if he had been thrown out of his village and to the wolves, who was this? Who had carried him, cared for him, healed him, fed him – who had saved him?

And whoever it was, how did they get past all those wolves?

All those questions should have made Stiles wary. They should have made him afraid and frightened and wake up instantly and run away. But when Stiles finally woke up – properly – he did so slowly, blearily, relaxed.

He was supposed to be dead, and now he wasn’t. Whoever had saved him couldn’t be _that_ bad, surely?

As Stiles woke up, he blinked. Once, then twice, then stared up at the sky. Except it wasn’t a sky. It was a rock ceiling, and he was in a cave.

He looked around, eyeing the grey walls slowly. It was extremely dark, and he could barely see his own hands let alone anything else in the cave. Below him, however, he could feel a rug of fur propped up as a make-shift bed, and when he moved he discovered a bandage wrapped around his side, sloppy but tight.

Stiles sighed, making to stand up and leave, when he heard a sound in the distance and froze.

Though still dark, Stiles could make out the silhouette of what looked like an animal standing opposite him. He hesitated, wavered, then offered his hand and made a whistling sound.

“Uhhh, hey there, bud. I… really hope you’re not a bear or anything.” Stiles narrowed his eyes, moving around a bit until he identified the ears and tail of a dog. He let out a relieved sigh and offered his hand again. “Are you staying to guard me or something, then? Do… whoever saved me not trust me?”

The dog didn’t reply. Stiles didn’t know why he was surprised.

He laid back on his bed, hissing as the movement stretched his wound. He gingerly touched, regretting the decision as pain travelled through his body. “ _Gods_ ,” Stiles hissed, and glanced towards the dog. “You better not have rabies, because I am not equipped to handle that.”

The dog made a wheezing sound, as if offended, and Stiles grinned.

“Well, you seem friendly enough.” He put his hand out again. For a moment he tensed, imagining the dog leaping forward to bite his limbs off, but the creature just curiously sniffed at his fingers before retreating once more. “Don’t be scared,” Stiles cooed, then paused. “I’m talking to a dog. I’m talking to an animal.”

He shook his head, and the dog snorted. He entertained the idea that the dog was laughing at _him_ , at what was surely a sign that he was going insane, but it was a dog. It was probably nothing more than just a coincidence, or perhaps his overactive imagination.

He was just about to try and go back to sleep when the sound of footsteps entered the cave. Stiles jumped up, wincing as he moved but too caught up in staring wide-eyed at the man frozen in the entrance. He was fairly tall, looking only a few years older than Stiles, with dark skin and short hair. Stiles didn’t really think it was significant until his eyes strayed lower, to where the man had tied a thin piece of cloth around his waist loosely, as if he knew that he needed to cover up, but couldn’t be bothered to do it properly.

Stiles blinked, looking away. The man was dressed more like a _caveman_ than anything, yet in the darkness Stiles could see something that looked like bandages in his hands. He figured the man must have been the one to heal him, but when he took a step forward Stiles recoiled.

“Who are you?”

Instead of answering him, the man crept forward. Before getting too close, he revealed what was in his hands – it was difficult to see in the dark, but he could make out fresh bandages and some other herbs Stiles didn’t recognise. The boy finally relaxed, watching the man as he touched Stiles’ side.

Despite his careful approach, Stiles flinched, reaching blindly at the ground to grip something. He startled when warm fur settled under his hand. Stiles turned to see the dog lying at his side, pressing its body against Stiles’ seemingly in comfort.

It was a lot larger than he’d first thought, and the fur was thick and coarse. Its skin seemed rough and covered in scratches, a seemingly endless amount of debris buried in its fur. Stiles winced, thinking of how annoying that must have been, and that was when his healer noticed the dog.

The man stilled, holding strangely intense eye contact with the animal, before nodding his head and continuing to slowly unwrap the bandage. Stiles looked away quickly, his stomach squeamish, and distracted himself by picking away at the debris in the dog’s coat.

At a particularly harsh tug, Stiles whimpered and shook. The man sent him an unimpressed look and Stiles scoffed. “Hey, you’re not the one who’s one sneeze away from bleeding out!” Stiles looked down, closing his eyes at the sight of the cut.

It was deep and wide, the bandages doing the best they could to stifle the bleeding but mostly failing. It wasn’t the pain that was making Stiles’ head go dizzy, however – though that hurt a _fuck ton_ – but rather the memory of Deaton stabbing him.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not really the biggest fan of infections. Though, to be honest, I don’t think anyone is. Maybe masochists? Does life-threatening disease fit into their kinky ways?”

He was ignored once more, and glanced away as the man got to cleaning the dried blood and applying new bandages. As he worked away, Stiles decided he’d had enough of the silence.

“So are you just going to stay silent?” he asked, quirking a brow when he got no response. “Got it, not a small-talk type of guy. You know, I’d be the same if I hadn’t just been sacrificed by my village to bloodthirsty wolves.”

The man paused, staring at him. The dog let out a low growl and Stiles snatched his hand away, surprised when the dog nosed at his fingers as if asking for them back. Stiles frowned and wondered. Had the dog not growled at him, then? He looked at his healer and wondered if the man had done something wrong, if it was a warning for _him_.

He couldn’t ask, however, because the man just returned to his work without a word. Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh, come _on_ , even the damn dog is chattier than you! I’m pretty sure laughed at me a while ago.”

The man’s head snapped up, a small smirk on his lips, and abruptly the dog stood and left.

“Wait, no,” Stiles whined. He felt strangely vulnerable now, as if the dog was somehow protecting him, and looked to his healer. “Did I say something wrong? Did I offend him? How was I supposed to know dogs were so sensitive?”

Another grin before the man ducked his head down, clearly ending the conversation they weren’t even having. Stiles groaned. He wished he could move without feeling like his guts would spill out, if only just so he could throw a temper tantrum.

“Well this blows. I manage to survive, by a _miracle_ , and I don’t even have anyone to talk to. So much for being rescued.”

Suddenly his side throbbed, and Stiles yelped. The man gave him an apologetic look, one that only looked half-genuine and absolutely take and made Stiles think he’d done it on purpose, before he finished wrapping the wound.

The man stepped away, making himself busy by packing up the herbs, and something in Stiles panicked. Without thinking, he grabbed the man’s arm. He realised his mistake when golden eyes snapped towards him sharply.

“Uhh,” Stiles said, and hurried to let go. “Um. Sorry. Just. You’re not going to leave me here, are you?”

The dog wasn’t too bad company, but Stiles preferred someone that could talk. Of course, judging by this guy’s silence and withering gaze, it was possible that the man didn’t want to talk to him, either.

As the man turned his back to him, Stiles glanced around the cave. “How did you find me? Who are you?” Silence. “Look, I get that you like being stoic and all, but I’ve just had a very traumatic experience and I have to talk to _someone_ , like, that’s my whole thing, you know, it’s how I deal with this, and the dog’s great but I can’t even see its face which is pretty freaking weird, and if you don’t start talking to me I’m going to end up having a panic attack and I am _definitely_ dragging you down with me—”

“Did you _ever_ shut up?”

Stiles paused, for a moment thinking he’d imagined the man speaking, before clapping his hands and smiling. “He speaks!” His healer rolled his eyes and turned away, but Stiles wasn’t deterred. “And to answer your question, no, no I don’t. My mom used to say that as soon as I learned to talk, I didn’t shut up at all, which I personally don’t think is a bad thing. Like, there are so many words in our language, you know? In _other_ languages, too! Oh gods,” he paled. “I’m not in a different country, am I?

“Is that why you’re not speaking? Because you don’t understand me? I can’t learn another language to talk to you, I can barely remember my own!”

The man sent him an annoyed look and Stiles sighed.

“Well, no, okay. I know that face. That face is of someone who has deal with me for too long, so you can definitely understand what I’m saying. Is it a religious thing? Have you taken an oath to be silent, or something? Maybe you just don’t like me?” Stiles hummed thoughtfully. “No, can’t be that, I’m a fucking _charm_.”

The man sighed, looked upwards. “Why did he make us rescue you?”

“Us?” Stiles echoed. “He? There’s more than just you?”

It seemed that the guy had had his fill, however, because he just glanced towards the dog for a moment and went back to his work. Stiles sat there and watched, feeling along the edge of the bandage. His tunic was missing, probably thrown away after being torn by Deaton, and the cold air against his chest made him shiver. His pants were still there, though, which saved him at least a _bit_ of dignity.

He jumped when a noise echoed through the cave before realising it was just the dog… doing whatever the dog was doing. Walking? Peeing? Gods, Stiles sure hoped not.

He breathed deeply, feeling along the bandage for a last time before sitting up. He bent his legs, tensing his core as he tried to stand as best he could. He’d just begun to fall when a furred body gathered under him, saving him from falling to the ground, and he barely had time to give the dog a grateful pat on the head before a pair of arms circled his chest.

He was shoved back on his furs rather roughly, hissing as the man stood above him with his arms crossed. “Idiot,” he shook his head. “What’s the point of saving you if you’re just going to kill yourself right after?”

“Maybe if you actually _told_ me something, then I’d be able to sit still.”

The man gave him a doubtful look before helping him to settle down. As he assessed the bandage, the dog curled by his toes. Stiles only realised how cold they’d been once the warm body was sheltering them, and he smiled at the dog whilst wondering if there’d be some scraps he could throw it as a reward.

When the man got to leave, Stiles quickly whimpered, trying to make it look worse than it did to gain the man’s sympathy.

His healer turned back around, frowning, then sighed. “Fine. I’ll answer three questions.”

Stiles blinked. He grinned. “Really?”

“Yes. That’s one down.”

“Wha—come on, man, that wasn’t fair!” Stiles whined and rolled his eyes when the man just shrugged. “Fine, fine. Where are we?”

“A cave.”

Stiles scowled. “You suck. That was totally cheating. Well, I still get one more, so don’t get too big of a head.” He looked the man up and down, eyes narrowed, and asked, “what’s your name?”

The man hesitated. Then he sighed. “Boyd.”

“Boyd, huh?” Stiles hummed. “And how did you find me, Boyd?”

“You’re out of questions,” Boyd said, his back to Stiles. “I don’t have you to talk to you anymore.”

He threw his hands up. “Oh, come on! If you go all silent on me, I’ll get bored and try to kill myself again.”

“Not a problem for me.”

Stiles snorted, trying to sit up without hurting himself. The dog’s weight beside him helped, serving as a stabling place as he breathed through the pain of his wound. He scratched the mutt behind its ears, watching with amusement as the dog turned to putty in his hands, before looking to Boyd.

Seeing the man do something complicated with the herbs, he asked, “so are you a doctor or something?” Silence. “Well, you know about healing injures, at least. You’d think I would too, what with constantly bumping into things, but luckily my best friend’s mom would always patch me up so I never worried about it.”

At the mention of Melissa, he frowned. He wondered what was going on in his village right now. Did they all think he was dead? Was his dad mourning him? How was Scott dealing with it, was he seeking comfort in Allison’s arms? Then he wondered about the wolves. What happened to _them?_ Stiles hadn’t died, he was very much alive – he pinched himself just to check – so did the wolves end up attacking his village anyway?

The thought twisted his stomach, that the experience he’d been through could be for nothing. That he got stabbed, got abandoned, only for the wolves to attack his home anyway.

He was taken out of his thoughts by a pair of footsteps further in the cave. He twisted around just in time to watch as a blonde girl strutted in, her hair curly and luscious and, _oh holy shit, completely naked from the waist up!_

Stiles tore his eyes away, even going as far as to bury his head in the dog’s fur as the girl made her way further into the room.

“Finally,” Boyd’s voice called out, relieved, which Stiles found quiet rude. “You take him.”

“Gladly,” the girl said, and the sweet tone of her voice sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine. He kept his eyes closed as the sound of her steps grew closer.

“Aww, cute,” she said. “He’s all shy.”

“You’re literally naked,” Stiles pointed out, eyes still closed. He waved around a hand. "I’m not looking again until you’re wearing clothes.”

The girl groaned. “Ugh, humans.”

As she shuffled away, Stiles’ brows furrowed. Humans? What did she mean by that? She almost made it sound as if… _she_ wasn’t human. Stiles turned the thought over in his head when a hand suddenly cuffed his ears.

“You can open your eyes now. Your delicate sensibilities are safe.”

Cautiously, Stiles followed her instructions. Like Boyd, the girl had done the absolute minimum, tying a piece of fabric behind her neck so that it covered her chest, but not much more. Stiles eyed her warily as she smirked, looking him up and down in a way that made him feel like lowly prey.

“A bit scrawny, but I guess I see the appeal. Not really into moles, though.”

Stiles squawked, feeling across the moles on his face. “What’s wrong with my moles?”

“Nothing, for _him_ I guess.” She then paused, doing a double take as she saw the dog. “What are _you_ doing here?”

She and the dog had a staring contest for a moment, and after an awkward silence Stiles felt the need to point out, “you do know you’re talking to a _dog_ right?”

He tried not to think about how he had done the exact same thing when the girl laughed at him. “Der isn’t usually so friendly, is all. Seems he really likes you. That, or he’s desperate.”

Stiles chose to ignore the last part, stroking the dog’s – Der, apparently – head. “Well, he’s not half bad either. Pretty good dog, if you ask me.”

The girl blinked, a vicious smile overtaking her face. “Wait, did you just say dog? _Dog?”_

“Uhhh – yes?”

“Oh, man!” The girl laughed hard, clutching her stomach as she struggled to remain upright. “Oh, gods, that is priceless! I am so not letting this go, Isaac is going to love this!” She wiped a tear from her cheek and put her hand out, still chuckling. “I’m Erica. This is how you humans greet each other, right? Shaking hands?”

Stiles hesitated, then reached out to do just that. “Yeah, about that… you keep saying that. Humans. Like there’s another option.”

Erica paused, eyes narrowing before snorting. “Holy shit, you don’t know? Well this is going to be fun!” When Stiles just kept staring, she finally held a hand up, gesturing impatiently when he didn’t take it. “Do you want to get out of this cave or not?”

Stiles gladly took her hand.

At first, Erica helped to steady him, but soon enough Der took over that job and slipped under his hand. The dog served as his walking stick as they made their way out of the cave. Stiles briefly wondered where Boyd had left to before he saw light and, most importantly, the outside. He hurried, hobbling more than walking, and tried to get outside as quick as possible.

Once out of the cave, he took a moment to take in the scenery – thick, long grass, tall oak pines, the bright midday sun – before turning to look at his companions and freezing.

Because, standing right where Der used to be, where the dog had thanklessly helped Stiles limp from inside to outside, was the wolf from yesterday.

You know, the big, black one who had called all its buddied to gobble Stiles up. Or at least he thought that was why, because they hadn’t actually hurt him and he’d woken up relatively healthy, which, naturally, he’d taken to mean that he’d escaped the wolves.

But, uh, no. The leader was sitting right there, with big puppy dog eyes and floppy ears and – _holy fucking shit, Der was a wolf! Der was a wolf!! What the hell?!_

Stiles tensed up, ready to run, when Erica said, “I can’t believe you thought he was a _dog_.”

Stiles blinked and looked back. “You knew he wasn’t a wolf?”

Erica smirked.

“And you’re… fine with that?!”

She shrugged and stepped forward. Stiles didn’t move, though, refusing to take his eyes off the wolf for a second.

Erica rolled her eyes. “You humans are so dramatic. He won’t hurt you – he’s the one who _saved_ you, for gods’ sake.”

“He what?!”

“Don’t tell me you remember nothing from yesterday?” Erica raised a brow. “A pack of wolves saving you from death, a big hunk carrying you into this cave, an even _more_ gorgeous hunk tending to your wound?” She leaned forward. “That last one is Boyd, and he’s _mine_ so don’t even think about it.”

Stiles spluttered, his eyes dashing from Erica to the wolf. “He…saved me?”

“Didn’t I walk in on you getting all cosy with him a minute ago?”

“That was before I knew he was a wolf!”

Erica rolled her eyes, all but dropping him down to sit on a large rock before wandering off. Stiles sat frozen, staring as the wolf – as the dog, as _Der_ – sat down in front of him. He was waiting for it to attack him, eat him, but instead it was just watching him.

Or _he_ was just watching him, Stiles supposed. It was hard to reconcile the thought of the kind and cuddly creature inside the cave with the terrifying beast from yesterday. He’d been sure that his guts would be ripped out and he’d serve as a tasty lunch for the wolf’s pack, yet Der was just sitting there, blinking, looking as innocent as a baby.

…a really _furry_ baby, maybe.

Maybe he was just a really friendly wolf? Maybe Erica – or Boyd – had raised him from a puppy to not attack any measly human it saw. That still left the question of where the other wolves had gone to, though. Maybe this wolf scared them off?

Erica settled next to Stiles, startling him out of his thoughts. “They’ll be here soon, don’t worry.”

“Why would I be worried—”

“I’m not talking to you,” Erica said, rolling her eyes, then looked at Der. “This one was being all paranoid about having to stay behind with you whilst the pack went off.” She paused, half-way through brushing dirt out of her hair, to sniff the air and grinned.

Stiles opened his mouth to ask when there was more rustling from the distance. He watched warily as a group of people made their way through the trees. Stiles recognised Boyd trekking beside a boy with curly hair, as stoic as ever as the boy waved his hands to explain some elaborate point. Behind them were a pair of girls, the first wearing an annoyed scowl with scruffy brown hair, and the last wearing—

“What _is_ it with you people and nudity?!” Stiles screeched, covering his eyes. “What do you have against clothes?”

Erica snorted. “Yeah, there’s no way you’re getting Malia to cover up. You’ll just have to deal with it.”

Beside him, Stiles could have sworn the wolf laughed at him, except it was a _wolf_ so obviously not. Another weird – and creepily convenient – coincidence.

In front of him, there was a sigh. “Is this another human who has that weird thing about clothes?”

“I can turn back into a coyote?” an unknown voice offered, and Stiles frowned because _what?!_

“Nah,” Erica said. “Make him squirm. It’s cute.”

“Should I be worried?” That was Boyd’s voice, close enough that Stiles guessed he was right behind him now.

“Aww, don’t worry babe,” Erica said. What followed was some kissing sounds that made Stiles scrunch his nose, he imagined if he was watching he'd feel pretty awkward right now. “You’re the only guy for me.”

Suddenly, something touched Stiles’ shoulder and he jumped up. He only had a second to regret the decision, his side throbbing violently, before he began falling to the ground. Instead of meeting the hard earth, however, his fall was softened by thick fur. Stiles blinked, realising the wolf had saved him, and tried to keep his panic at bay as Der kept supporting him.

He looked back to the rock, where he’d been spooked, to see the curly haired kid giving him a sheepish grin. "Sorry, man, didn’t meant to scare you that much. Good think Derek caught you, huh?”

“I am… so confused. Can someone people explain what’s going on?”

Erica looked at him pityingly, patting his head like he was a child. “Fine, I’ll try to dumb it down for you. That behind you, the wolf you’re on top of, the one you’d been all snuggled against in the cave, that’s Derek.” She pointed at the guy who’d scared Stiles. “That’s Isaac. He likes stealing scarves.”

“They’re warm,” Isaac defended himself, blushing.

Stiles took a second to notice the scarf draped around Isaac’s shoulders, protecting him from the elements. In fact, he looked to be the only one who wasn’t half – or fully, Stiles thought after thoughtlessly looking behind him and hurriedly turning away – naked, with everyone else seeming to have only dressed for his benefit.

“Those two behind you,” Erica pointed again, and Stiles refused to look because _why couldn’t they just wear clothes like normal people?!_ “The one wearing clothes is Cora, the one _not_ is Malia. She’ll be spending a lot of time as a coyote, though, so you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, about that.” Stiles waved his hands around. “You haven’t cleared _that_ up. Coyote? How is she a coyote? Why are all of you friends with this wolf? And why do you keep saying ‘human’ like you aren’t one?”

“Because we’re not,” a girl from behind – Cora – stepped forward. “We’re not humans.”

Stiles blinked at her. “…then what are you?”

She grinned. Stiles watched, frozen in horror, as her face transformed to become more animal-like, with a long nose and broad brow, her teeth sharper than spears and her eyes a vibrant gold. “We’re werewolves.”

If you asked him, Stiles would have said that that was the _perfect_ time to faint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes:
> 
> • This chapter actually turned out to be way longer than the first draft. It's two pages longer and I even had to cut a scene out to fit this, but I'll work out a way to add it into the next chapter, so it's aight.
> 
> • Boyd is always a favourite of mine to read about, which actually kind of sucks because most people just make him silent and serious and give him no personality. Hopefully I can do better than that here, and though Boyd is definitely going to be the quiet type he'll have more than enough personality to go around.
> 
> • I tried to make the whole werewolf reveal gradual and not too annoying, not sure how that worked out. Also Stiles rambling when he's nervous is a thing I very much love so expect to see more of that. Aside from that, imma go back to playing Assassin's Creed-- _I mean, uhhh,_ *cough cough* go back to writing and editing and doing all the homeworks. Yes! All of them.... right...
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment or kudos as they are very much appreciated! If anyone spots out spelling mistakes don't hesitate to comment on them and I'll fix them right away.


	3. One Scary Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter's summary:
> 
> Stiles woke up in a cave, amazed that he'd survived the night of his sacrifice. He soon came to realise that there was more to his rescuers that met the eye, and was proven right when they revealed themselves to be werewolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter update this week because I'm very busy right now (aaah, school work sucks! Especially during lockdown!) Not too happy with it but I didn't really have enough time to edit it all. Next week's chapter should be back to normal length.

When he woke up again – he really needed to stop doing that – he was back in the cave. His wound no longer hurt and his stomach was full, and after a precursory glance around the cave he saw Derek warming his feet for him, eyes closed.

 _Huh_ , Stiles thought, and went back to sleep.

And then he sprung up again.

Derek jumped with him, hackles up and teeth drawn. And though he was distracted with surveying the cave for a threat, Stiles was struck with the fear that _oh, hey, this is a wolf! This is totally a wolf! You got up close and personal and_ hugged _a wolf today!_

Or at least he thought it was still today. The cave was as dark as ever, and no matter how hard he stretched he couldn’t move to see if there was any light coming through the entrance of the tunnel. When he turned back around, sighing, it was to see Derek inches from his face.

“Gods!” He jumped back, shoulders strung high as the wolf backed off and lowered his head, almost as if in apology. “Real, uh, sneaky,” he said, clearing his throat. “Sneaky wolf. Sneaky _were_ wolf.”

It was silent for a moment, and they didn’t look at each other.

“So… werewolves. Those are real?” Derek snorted and gave him an exasperated look. “Hey, you of all people – wolves? Beings? Creatures? – don’t have a right to judge me, alright, I just had an _experience_.”

Derek rolled his eyes, and the action was so _human_ it made Stiles pause. He couldn’t get it through his head – this was a wolf, a wolf who he’d been sacrificed to, who’d hunted him down in the middle of the night. But it was also a wolf who’d warmed his feet for him, who’d caught him when he fell, a wolf who _was a human, too_.

“Come on, then,” he said, trying to put more bravado into his voice than there really was. “Secret is up, right? Turn into a human. Drop the whole wolf disguise thing-y.”

Derek remained where he was, staring unimpressed.

“Do you need me to turn around?” Stiles asked. “Is it a modesty thing? I don’t really think I can do that right now, but I’ll close me eyes, if you want.”

Stiles closed his eyes and waited, expecting maybe the sound of cracking bones or growing… skin? He didn’t really know what he expected, but he didn’t expect a cold nose to touch his forehead slowly. Stiles opened his eyes – man were wolves big – so see Derek just as he was.

“No shifting?” He asked, a little disappointed, then shrugged. “Well, I won’t bother you about it. There’s probably some kind of ritual or something you guys have to do. I didn’t really learn a lot about werewolves in my village. Mostly just ghost stories to keep the kids in line, but I never really believed them.”

Right now Stiles thought he probably should have, because Derek was giving him an annoyed look as if he couldn’t handle him.

“So, if the stories don’t add up… did you tear apart my village?” Derek shook his head and Stiles sighed, his shoulder slumping at the wave of relief that washed over him. He eagerly asked, “and you guys didn’t kill the southern village, then, right?”

Derek hesitated. Then, slowly, reluctantly, he nodded.

Stiles eyed him warily, feeling the need to shuffle back a bit. “So you didn’t kill my village, but you did kill another? And then you saved me? Bit of a grey moral code there, big guy.”

At that, Derek seemed to frown. He stared for a while longer before making his way towards Stiles’ head. Stiles didn’t have time to panic or move or _anything_ as Derek wrapped around him, putting his body behind Stiles’ neck and lying down. At first the boy froze, but slowly he realised Derek wasn’t doing anything other than keeping him warm and relaxed.

“Werewolves.” He laughed. “Are all of you werewolves? Or were…creatures. That Malia chick said something about a coyote.” At that mention, he remembered how she’d said she could shift, and his mind drifted back to Derek. “If everyone else is human – or, er, in their human-form, and you can shift whenever you feel like it… why are you a wolf?”

Silence.

Stiles looked down, startled to see Derek deep asleep. The wolf looked strangely cosy, his snout tucked against his paws, his entire body fluffier than any rabbit Stiles had ever seen. He watched for a moment, studying the wolf’ features and thinking about the man who lay beneath. What did he look like? What did he sound like?

Was there a reason he wasn’t changing, or did he simply not trust Stiles enough yet? Stiles wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be trusted by this pack. He wanted to go home, but that possibility seemed like a million years ago.

It would be difficult – to go home and face everyone after they’d agreed to sacrifice him, to throw him away for a second chance against some wolves. Could he handle seeing his father’s face again, knowing the man was probably mourning him right now?

Not to mention that Stiles didn’t really think he could walk anywhere right now. Not alone, at least. The wound on his side had been tended to well, Boyd apparently having enough knowledge of what it took to avoid infection and bleeding out, but it was far from allowing him to find his way back home again.

As he settled into his make-shift bed, infinitely aware that there was a supernatural creature sleeping right next to him, he wondered if he trusted the pack to nurse him back to health.

It didn’t feel like Stiles had slept for long. In fact, the next time he opened his eyes, it felt like a minute had barely gone by since he’d closed his eyes and been taken by sleep.

There was one glaring difference, however. The warmth he’d grown familiar with over the past day, the weight of a steady wolf to balance him, was now gone, instead replaced with cold wind and a distinct vulnerability he didn’t really appreciate.

It took a few moments to realise someone else was in the cave. At first he blindly fumbled in the dark, trying his best to sit up without breaking his bones or something, when the sound of stone against steel froze him.

The sound repeated a few more times, now recognisable as the sharpening of a knife, as Stiles tried to peer at the mysterious figure. By the time Stiles realised it was Cora, she’d already noticed him.

“Finally awake,” she said, standing up. “Boyd mentioned you like to sleep.”

When she came closer Stiles looked her up and down. Cora was definitely a memorable figure, with hair as dark a hawk’s and as unruly as a wild animal, her body sleek yet clearly capable of more than just a punch. She would almost look _nice_ , Stiles thought, with her hazel eyes and her button nose, if not for the overly wolfish tint to all the features on her face. Even as she just stood there, waiting, her eyes were alight with defiance and the way she held the knife in her hand made Stiles instinctively tense up.

He tried to shake it off, grinning as he said, “Boyd talked about me? Aww, I think he’s sweet on me.”

Cora scowled at him. “Don’t do that. If you keep talking like that, she’ll invite you to a threesome.” At his dropped jaw, she smirked. “Yeah, they’re not exactly your ‘normal couple’. And I really don’t need to smell that.”

“Smell?” Stiles asked, then, “oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_.” Cora crossed her arms. “You’re lucky my brother decided you were worth saving.”

“Your brother?”

“Derek. Our alpha. If it was up to me, we’d leave you behind and cut our losses. Derek said otherwise.”

Stiles swallowed, attempting a smile. “That’s nice of him.”

“It is. Derek trusts too easily, but even he knows better than to turn his back on a stranger.” She pointed the knife his way. “And even if he didn’t, I do. Make one wrong move against us and I’m leaving you behind.”

Stiles put his hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you! I haven’t even _done_ anything to make you think that!” These weres sure had some trust issues, what with all the tight lips and death threats. Stiles was starting to think running away first chance might be a good option. “And I didn’t _ask_ Derek to save me, okay? He did whatever he wanted.”

Cora narrowed her eyes at him, and for a moment Stiles really did feel like a piece of prey. Ultimately she backed off, returning to the shadows with her knife and her rock. Almost to herself, she muttered, “still don’t get why he likes you.”

Stiles felt comforted, sort of, that at least someone here liked him. Boyd was standoffish and Erica seemed ready to tear into him at any moment, and Cora certainly wasn’t going to do him any favours. He hadn’t really met any of the others, but they didn’t exactly look like the hugging sort. He wondered how long he’d have to stay by Derek’s side, let the wolf protect him from the others until he got his chance to run away and get home.

Stiles tried to keep his mouth shut, determined not to get on Cora’s bad side. Though, if he really thought about it, she already seemed to hate every fibre of his being, so eventually he gave up and said, “so what’s the deal with Derek?”

Cora paused.

“Why is he a wolf? Is he stuck, or is that just a personal thing or something?”

Cora eyed him, making a point to sharpen her knife extra loudly.

“Touchy subject. Got it.”

The girl snorted. “Lucky for you, you’ll find out soon enough.” She stood, balancing the knife between her fingers and testing its weight. When Stiles sent her a questioning look, she said, “the pack wants to tell you when they’re back.”

“That’s nice of them,” Stiles said, then blinked. “Wait, back? Where are they?”

“Hunting.”

“Is that what the knife is for?”

Suddenly, Cora smirked. She looked him over in a way that made him feel like he was missing a joke, playing with the knife as if it were a harmless piece of string around her fingers. “How much do you know about werewolves?”

“Not much,” he shrugged. “I didn’t even really believe in them until today. They were more of a scary bedtime story than anything.”

“Sounds like humans alright,” Cora said bitterly, “dumbing down our existence to nothing more than stories. I suppose you don’t believe in vampires either, then?”

Stiles blinked. “Believe in _what_ _now?!”_

She waved her hand. “Never mind. It’s not my job to spoon-feed you things.” She tilted her ears, almost like a dog listening to a far off noise, and walked to the mouth of the cave without a word. After a moment, she looked back. “Well, are you going to follow?”

Stiles frowned. “You do realise that I have a gaping hole in my side, right?”

Cora rolled her eyes. “I’ve forgotten what human healing is like,” she said, and turned to pick up Stiles.

Yes, _pick him up._ As in lift him over her shoulder with his head dangling above the ground. One, not very dignified, and two, how the hell did she just do that? They looked to be about the same age, yet Stiles knew he’d have trouble picking up a heavy hammer, let alone an entire human being.

As she carried him out of the cave, he let out an indignant squawk. “Hey, put me down! I’m not some damsel in distress!”

“Then you should be able to walk.”

“Massive hole! In my body! Bleeding!” Stiles waved his arms as best he could, wincing as his head grew dizzy. “I feel like you’re not getting that.”

Cora shrugged, and Stiles felt himself tipping to the side. “If you were a werewolf, that would have already healed days ago.”

“Really?” Before he could get his answer, however, he was unceremoniously dumped on the ground. He hissed, grabbing at his side and noticing for the first time that they were finally outside. “Ah, the outdoors. I can finally escape.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Cora stepped in front of him as if he would actually make the attempt, crossing her arms threateningly. “I don’t need my brother yelling at me about letting his boytoy run away.”

For a moment Stiles was distracted by the thought of what a yelling Derek would sound like – just making yipping noises? Barking in succession? Maybe he’d use his paw to write out an entire list of what he wanted to say – when he played back what Cora had said.

“Hey! I’m no-one’s boytoy.” He sniffed delicately. “Even Erica wasn’t this mean. I want Erica back.”

“Good thing they’re here, then.”

“They are?” Stiles narrowed his eyes, looking around but finding the peace undisturbed. He eyed Cora, wondering how far her hearing must go that she could detect where they were when he couldn’t even see anything. He was distracted from his questions, though, when he heard the rustle of bushes behind him.

Behind him, Derek was stepping out of the green, panting as though he’d run fast and far. The wolf rounded his way to Stiles, watching Cora sharply as if suspecting she’d attack.

Cora sighed. “You’ll be happy to know I was perfectly friendly, Der, you can relax.”

Derek looked to Stiles and the boy nodded. “I’m still intact. Can’t say the same for my dignity,” he said, remembering how he’d been carried, and patted Derek on the head. “Good to know you care.”

Derek blinked and backed off. It was almost like a switch had been flipped, and Stiles watched with some amusement as the wolf put some distance between them.

“So what did you guys hunt?” Instead of hearing a response, Stiles gagged as an awful smell entered the clearing and looked over his shoulder. “Dear gods, what is that smell? It smells like something died in here—”

He paused once he saw the dead deer.

The poor animal was lying still on the ground, surrounded by the pack. Or at least what Stiles assumed was the pack, because instead of the humans he’d met earlier, they were all animals now. There was a sandy one, a brown one, a grey one – there was even a coyote, all standing around the deer they’d dragged into the clearing.

Stiles only had a moment to pick his jaw up from the floor when the sandy-coloured wolf _changed_ , _twisted_ , its features growing and shrinking until it became the recognisable figure of Erica.

Even as a human, her face was still… different. Her teeth leagues sharper, her jaw strangely more pointed, not to mention the eyes – a bright gold, brighter than any sun he’d ever seen. If it hadn’t been for her curly blonde hair, and the rest of her perfectly human – and naked, _why?!_ – body, Stiles would have thought she’d been an animal even in this shifted state.

The girl smirked, kicking the deer proudly. “We’ve brought food,” she said. “Hope you like deer, because we had to chase this fucker a long, _long_ way.”

Stiles found it fortunate that he wasn’t a vegetarian. Very fortunate, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes:
> 
> • Questions, questions, questions. I'm trying to explain Stiles' emotions while not slowing down the plot too much. Hopefully I'm not doing too bad of a job.
> 
> • It's quite difficult to write for a character who can't speak or even gesture, but Derek is all grumpy and quiet anyway so I think it's not too bad. Also moral ambiguity is a pretty big theme in the show so don't expect the pack to be Scott levels of innocence. The pack is down for murder when it's justified, Stiles? Maybe not so much. You'll see later on.
> 
> • Cora! Adelaide Kane is my celebrity crush and she could slap me and I'd still thank her. Cora also rules and I do wish she hadn't left the show. Hopefully her character isn't too dislikable? She's prickly and tough, but once Stiles gains her trust she'll be just as protective over him as she is over her brother.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always welcome, they mean a lot to me and I love reading about people's thoughts of the story. Every little counts!


	4. Sharing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last week's chapter:
> 
> Stiles woke up twice, once for Derek to continue being a grumpy and silent werewolf, and the second time to get a variety of death threats from Cora. Luckily he'd been promised to hear the full(er) story soon enough, but first he has to get past the massive deer the pack brought back to eat. Gross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to normal length chapters, whoop! I gotta say thank you to all the people who are commenting because it's a huge motivational boost and encourages me to keep writing this. I'm pretty happy with how this chapter turned out but feel free to comment your thoughts down below.
> 
> Enjoy!

Werewolves, Stiles learned, had no manners.

The second Isaac dug into his piece of deer – one he’d fought the rest over, proud to get his muscled prize – it was all over his face. He ate noisily and messily, juices dribbling down his chin and getting tangled in his scarf. Both his hands and teeth were used, Isaac making loud moans and belches as he ate. And that was just _Isaac_.

The rest were much, much worse.

Erica had bits in her hair. Boyd chomped on an entire thigh with a straight face. Cora kept licking her mouth like a wild animal. Malia growled loudly at anyone who looked at her. And Derek… well, Derek wasn’t actually that bad, but he was also a _wolf_ and that was bad enough on its own.

Derek had offered him a piece, when he’d first sat down and everyone waited for him to take his fill first. He’d held up his own and nudged it towards Stiles, nodding when he didn’t take it.

“Uhh,” Stiles had stumbled. “No, I’m. I’m okay. Thanks. I’ll just… cook mine over the fire.”

Ignoring Derek’s vaguely disappointed expression, Stiles had very pointedly left them to their own devices to gather firewood, hoping that by the time he was back they’d have finished it all. When Stiles came back, he could have sworn the deer had gotten _bigger_.

By the time everyone was done, the sun was setting. The pack lay on their backs and praised themselves on a good hunt, trading jeers about Boyd being too slow and Malia’s face scaring the prey away. Stiles watched them talk amongst themselves, feeling oddly detached, until he finally spoke.

“So is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?”

Everyone fell quiet. They traded looks and meaningful gazes for long enough that Stiles felt himself out to snap, about to yell, when Derek nodded and Erica spoke.

“What did your village tell you when they sacrificed you?”

Stiles blinked, a bit surprised by the question. “That… a nearby village had been killed by a pack of wolves. Our druid said that they’d been sent by the gods, to cleanse them of their sins. That we needed to sacrifice someone from the village to protect ourselves.”

Cora let out a harsh laugh. “Because that’s all we are to them, of course. Villains for their scary stories, there only to kill and destroy.”

The rest of the pack grumbled along with her, cursing humans’ one-sided opinions. Stiles hunched into himself, finding himself without a voice, and looked down to see Derek the only quiet one, looking right at him.

The wolf moved to sit next to him, nosing at his elbow until his hand was buried in Derek’s fur. The touch revitalised him, and he hesitated for only a moment before saying, “you killed an entire village.”

The pack stopped talking.

“Our huntsman said there wasn’t one person left alive,” Stiles said, looking at them critically. “Are you supposed to be the heroes in that story, then?”

For a moment, nobody said anything. The pit that had been forming in Stiles’ stomach was now growing rapidly as everyone avoided his eyes. Even Derek had lowered his face, refusing to look at him as if not wanting to confront the truth.

Finally Isaac spoke. “We don’t like killing,” he said in a quiet, soft voice. “When we went there, we were just looking for answers. We didn’t want to kill them. They thought us a threat.” He sighed. “It was self-defence.”

“An entire village?” Stiles looked at Isaac doubtfully. “You needed to kill an entire village in self-defence?”

“Yes.”

Stiles startled. He hadn’t really heard Malia’s voice much, the girl preferring to communicate in grunts and growls, but her timbre was low and serious, meeting Stiles’ eyes squarely and challengingly.

Before Stiles could ask anymore, she turned from him and presented her back. Her skin was milky and dirt-ridden, showing obviously that she didn’t put much effort into her appearance. That, however, was not what caught Stiles’ attention.

What caught was Stiles’ attention was the scar.

It was long and wide, reaching from the bottom of her shoulder to the small of her back. The line was rigid, too, unsteady like someone had slashed with rabid fury. Its colour was as pale as stone, the pink edges telling of its recent age, the texture taut and stretched. Just looking at it sent shivers down Stiles’ spine.

When she turned back, Malia’s eyes were sad. “Humans like to hurt,” she said haltingly. “They see the unfamiliar and pelt it with spears. We spoke no more than ten words before they attacked us. We had no choice.”

Derek licked at her hand, exuding comfort despite her rough aura. “I’m fine,” she said, pushing him away less roughly than she probably meant to. “Stop babying me. It’s finally healed up, so I’m fine.”

“Finally?” Stiles echoed. “Cora told me you guys had… super healing, or accelerated healing or whatever.”

Erica shrugged. “Generally. Our bodies naturally work faster than yours, so small wounds will heal faster without any effort or concentration being put into it. Sometimes, though, the healing takes too long, and if you don’t put your effort and energy into healing even faster, you’ll bleed out before you get better. We don’t like doing that, however. It tends to hurt more.”

She looked to Malia’s scar as she said it, and Stiles wondered how many times they’d had wounds so serious they had to scar their bodies in order to survive. For a moment he thought about it, how if the villagers attacked without warning maybe they really had deserved it, before he shook the thought out of his head.

“No,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “No, there were innocents there. There were _children_ there, those who didn’t have anything to do with it! You killed innocents!”

Cora growled. “Like that isn’t exactly what _humans_ did to us!”

Stiles froze, then bit his tongue. “What do you mean?”

Cora looked angry, looked as if she was about to tear into him and then some. Before anything could happen, Derek stood up. Stiles hadn’t noticed, but throughout the conversation his body at Stiles’ side had gotten more and more tense. Now he looked angry, giving his sister a glare and his pack a frustrated look. He stalked off without a word or a noise, leaving everyone else to exchange worried glances.

Boyd was the one to break the silence. “It’s a long story,” he said. “What happened… before, it’s a long story, and none of us want to talk about it. All you need to know is that we killed in self-defence.”

Stiles hesitated, then nodded. He couldn’t image killing someone himself, deciding that their life was more important than his, but the image of Malia’s scar was stuck in his mind. It looked like it _hurt_. Not to mention that it was apparently bad enough that even natural werewolf healing couldn’t fix her. He couldn’t image killing someone, but he also couldn’t imagine going through that amount of pain.

Stiles looked to where Derek left. “Is no-one going to go after him?”

“He doesn’t like remembering what happened,” Cora shrugged. “He’ll come back soon enough.”

Stiles nodded then, looking to change the subject, said, “so what’s the deal with Derek, then? Why is he a wolf when no-one else is? It’s a kind of weird.”

The pack exchanged brief glances until Cora sighed. “It happened a long time ago, so we’re all pretty much used to it. He’s just as much of the pack as anyone else, even if he’s stuck in his wolf form.” At Stiles’ confused look, she explained, “he was cursed.”

 _Oh_. Stiles suddenly realised why Cora had been so sensitive about all his questions earlier.

“So he’s… cursed to be a wolf?”

“Most of the time,” said Erica, adjusting her place on Boyd’s lap. “The only time he can be human is during the full moon. I honestly don’t know if it’s better or worse to dangle the hope of being a human again once a month.”

Stiles frowned in confusion. “Hope? There’s a cure for it?”

“It’s why we went to the southern village, for answers,” Isaac said. He shook his head. “They must have already known what we were, somehow. We got no time to ask questions. There was too much panic, too much going on. Too many casualties.”

They all nodded.

The rest of the evening was spent quietly. The satisfied mood of before had been ruined, instead everyone ruminating their thoughts in their heads. Stiles asked a few more questions about their shifts and their powers, something Erica was happy to distract herself with, but each time they ended with another silence.

After a while, Stiles stood up to leave. He played it off as wanting some time to clear his head, needing some fresh air on his own away from the pack. They all nodded and let him leave, only Cora’s careful eyes watching him walk away as if she knew just where he was going.

Stiles wandered around for a while, the night sky making it hard to navigate his position, especially without knowing where he was supposed to go. He was just about to give up and go back when he spotted a dark figure sitting by a lake.

Derek looked to be lost in his thoughts, staring into the water like he was caught up in it. If his ear hadn’t flicked back when Stiles walked closer, he would have thought that the wolf didn’t know he was there.

Stiles sat beside him, looking around aimlessly as he dipped his feet into the water. His minimal clothing meant the cold air hit him hard, but he tried his best to hide his shiver as he cleared his throat. “Sorry if I, uh, annoyed you or anything. I didn’t know the full story. Still don’t, really, but…”

Derek stared ahead for another while, then eventually looked to Stiles. He nudged him under Stiles started stroking his head with a laugh.

“I’ll take that as apology accepted. You guys saved me and I acted like a dick, so, you know. Probably shouldn’t have pressed so hard.”

Derek huffed, settling to lean against Stiles. The boy pressed his smile into Derek’s fur, scratching behind the ears until the wolf sagged.

“You’re surprisingly chill for a wolf,” Stiles thought out loud. “I was expecting you to be growling and biting and all that. Kind of like Malia, actually.”

Derek turned his head and, before Stiles could react, playfully bit at his chin. Stiles flailed, saving himself from falling to the ground just barely, and laughed.

“Wha—hey, _rude_.” He pushed Derek. “Chill opinion taken back, you’re horrible and I hate you.”

Derek snorted, helping him back up before turning to the lake once more. They sat in silence for a while, Stiles surprisingly content to not fill the air with conversation.

“My mom,” Stiles eventually said, because his silence had a limit, _okay,_ “used to tell me bedtime stories. I had a hard time getting to sleep, so she’d make up stories but add little twists to link to whatever had happened that day.” He smiled at the memory, his smile turning sad at the corner. “There was one where a prince killed a werewolf.”

He looked to Derek, to find Derek looking right back. They stared for a moment, then Stiles cleared his throat and looked away.

“I’ve just… seen all of this ‘supernatural’ stuff as bedtime stories, not real. It’s really weird to think that everything is real now.” When there was no response, he sighed. “I’m kind of sad you can’t talk. Guess I’ll just have to wait for the full—”

Stiles stopped himself. Derek’s curious eyes were digging into him but he ignored them. He wasn’t staying until the full moon, he had to remind himself. He was running away and going home. To his dad, his friend, his _village_. He wasn’t going to choose some random pack he’d just met over his family.

It was a while more before either of them moved. Derek stood and nudged Stiles until he got up with him, the wolf leading the way back to the cave, never hesitating for a moment despite the darkness that would have surely confused Stiles.

When they reached the cave, Cora was standing outside with her arms crossed. She sent Derek an unimpressed glare.

“Took you long enough. What were you guys doing out there for so long?” She waved before Stiles could answer. “You’re here, that’s all I care about. Come on, Isaac said he wouldn’t sleep until you came back.”

Stiles blinked questioningly at Derek, but the wolf didn’t seem to think it weird. When Stiles went to sleep, he was surprised to discover the pack slept in a ‘puppy pile’, piled up in the middle of the cave on top and under each other. As he settled down on the furs he’d woken up on, Derek made of point of sleeping by his side. Stiles fell asleep with his face half-mashed into fur.

In the morning, Boyd checked over his wound. “It’s healing, but you have to be sure to keep it covered up more.”

Stiles shrugged. “Kind of hard without a tunic or anything. You know, since my last one had a massive hole in the middle.”

Boyd continued to work like he’d never spoken. “Remember to keep it clean, too, and for the love of the gods, _try_ not to pull it as much. I know it’s difficult for you to stay still, but it’s in your best interests if you want to not die.”

Stiles made the mature decision not to mock Boyd in a funny voice for that, let it be known. “So, uh, how long until everything heals?” he asked, trying to be subtle. “Just to know when I can move again. That’s it. Yeah, not for any other season.”

Boyd raised a brow. “If this is about your escape plan—” he brushed over Stiles’ guffawing, “—then you should know it’ll be some weeks until it heals fully.”

Stiles huffed, then tried for a smile. “Not that that’s a bad thing! Because I’m totally not planning on running away in the night, nope, we’re all good here.” Boyd stared at him, then poked his side. When Stiles howled from the pain, the man raised his brow. “Alright, point proven,” Stiles growled. “I’ll stick around until I’m good as new, and then I can go home, right?”

“If Malia hasn’t eaten you by then,” Boyd said, wrapping Stiles’ bandage up before turning to the wolf sitting at his side. “Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself anymore. I don’t need extra work.”

“I’m _right_ here!”

They ignored him and his flailing hands, Derek nodding as Boyd left the cave without another word. Derek stood and shook his fur, gesturing for Stiles to stand. Stiles grumbled as he got up, leaning on Derek and shivering as they got closer to the outside.

“You’re lucky you’re covered in fur,” he grouched. “I bet _you_ don’t get cold all the time. I know you guys are used to being naked, but this is really weird for me. I miss clothes, Derek, proper clothes, not thin things that are half falling apart.” He poked at his pants which were filled with holes, not to mention covered in day-old blood. He pulled away with a sigh, resigning himself to spending the next however many days it took for him to heal only half-dressed.

Outside, Stiles had the delight of watching Cora and Isaac roughhouse. Erica and Isaac were cheering on from the sides, yelling insults at whoever they were betting against and making promises of grandeur – _“If you win, Cora, we’re going to have the best girls’ night out ever, mark my words!”_ Meawhile, Boyd and Malia stood at the side and chewed away at the leftover pieces of deer, watching the proceedings like they were reconsidering being part of the pack.

When Cora finally came out of on top – _“You better deliver on that promise, Erica!” –_ they all made their way to the lake to wash up.

Stiles stared with wide eyes as everyone tossed off their clothes freely and happily, flinging them away like they were more of a hinderance than a help. They were all unfairly gorgeous, too. All rippling abs and flowing hair, dragging water over their head like part of some ancient, mystical painting.

Stiles’ undressing was much less impressive. He felt self-conscious getting undressed in front of the others despite their casualty, eventually resorting to getting naked behind a bush. Which still meant he had to get to the lake somehow, so he sped across the ground with as many leaves as he could to protect his private parts.

Erica whistled loudly and Cora pretended to gag. At least, he hoped it was pretend. He wasn’t _that_ unattractive.

Stiles was only allowed to sit at the edge of the water, just deep enough to keep himself decent – not that he thought the others would have minded, but he was civilised _damnit_ – but shallow enough to keep the bandages out of the water.

“Keeps you from getting an infection,” Boyd had said, then hummed. “Though I feel like you’ll do something to get one anyway.”

Which, _rude_. Totally rude and not true.

But he didn’t really mind sitting on the side lines – it gave him the perfect angle to see Derek do the doggy paddle in the water, which was the funniest thing in the world.

“My _gods_ ,” Stiles cried, laughing so hard he almost fell over. The rest of the pack was grinning, too, making Derek grumpier by the second. “You look like a drowned cat! And that little doggy paddle is absolutely _adorable_ , who knew the big bad wolf could be so damn cute—”

Next thing Stiles knew, he was covered in water.

For a moment he spluttered. Derek stood there, having climbed to land when Stiles wasn’t paying attention and shaking the fur off his coat and straight onto Stiles. The wolf looked smug, a challenging glint in his eyes.

Stiles gasped, wiping water out of his eye. “You bitch,” he said, and Derek had no time to get away before Stiles pushed him straight into the water.

It was _war_.

Derek kept running close enough to spray Stiles with water until the boy was drenched, running off before he could retaliate with a yip of laughter. When he couldn’t reach him, Stiles resorted to pelting him with bits of seaweed and sticks he found floating in the water, taking delight in the way Derek tried (and failed) to get them off.

It surprised him when Erica joined in, dunking Derek under the water until he toppled her into it herself. When she surfaced, she delegated Boyd to being Stiles’ bodyguard, who looked none too thrilled at the idea.

After that, the match was set. Erica and Boyd ensured that Derek couldn’t get close enough to wet Stiles any further, and Cora and Isaac tried to distract them as best they could and, when they couldn’t do that, just started to try and drown Erica and Boyd.

Malia, who’d been sitting on the side lines as a coyote – still weird—was appointed referee, because apparently these insane creatures _did_ have limits after all. Though, to be fair, she didn’t call upon her referee duties often, somehow considering it within the rules for Erica to try and throttle Isaac after he attacked her from behind.

When they’d had enough of the lake, they all made their way back to the cave. Boyd quickly got to rewrapping the wound, muttering under his breath about idiots who didn’t listen to him, and Stiles whined as the man began poking around his side.

After a few minutes, Boyd grunted. “It looks fine for now. But make sure to keep out of the water after this, and clean this whenever you can.” As he dressed up the wound, he looked around aimlessly and said to himself, “we’ll have to get more bandages soon enough.”

“I’ve been wondering about that,” Stiles said, wincing at a strong tug. “Where you got these bandages, I mean.”

Cora – who was sprawled beside Erica across the ground, looking more like a pair of cats than werewolves – called out, “we usually steal them from villages we pass by. These ones we got from the south village.” At Stiles’ look, she shrugged. “Not like they were using them anyway.”

Stiles hummed, trying not to think about it. It was one thing to hang out with werewolves. It was another to do that with werewolves who he’d known had killed. He didn’t need that image in his mind, not when he had no choice but to stay with them for now.

Boyd finished, and Stiles experimentally ran his fingers along the bandage. He turned to say something to Derek, only to realise the wolf wasn’t there. He looked around, frowning when he couldn’t find him in the clearing. “Have you guys seen where Derek went?”

Erica opened her eyes, taking a moment away from her sunbathing to flick her hair out of her face. “I think he said he was going off to get something or other.”

Stiles blinked. “He did?”

Erica nodded. “He’ll be back soon enough, don’t you worry. I’m sure the big bad wolf can brave the forest on his own,” she said, her voice teasing, and Stiles pretended to laugh.

Still, though. Stiles was left with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the pack – that afternoon had proved that they at least _knew_ what fun was, and he was even beginning to think he could find a friend in Erica, but he’d unknowingly began to rely on Derek for comfort these past days. It felt strange without him here, without someone to look to when things got awkward or when he wanted to ramble on about nothing.

He tried to push the thought away and instead focus on the pack. He was surprised to find that, as the day dragged on, the wolves didn’t seem bothered to move much. He’d expected them to be full of energy and be bounding off the walls, but it seemed as if eating their meal last night had drained them of their energy and demanded they take naps every forty minutes.

Soon enough it was approaching evening and Stiles still hadn’t seen Derek. He started biting at his nails, hearing Scott’s reprimanding voice in his head but being unable to resist it. There could have been hunters in the forest, or maybe Derek ran into someone from Stiles’ village. The thought had him wondering how far away he was from where he’d collapsed. None of the wolves treated the cave like it was a home, in fact scoping out parts of the surrounding territory like seeking where they would go next. Stiles supposed he’d go with them, still not well enough to leave on his own – and even if he was he had no idea where he was. Would the wolves take him further from his home? Closer?

He found a shaded corner of the clearing and drifted off a bit. When he woke up again it was to a black, furry face inches away from him.

Stiles jumped, colliding with Derek. He hissed, rubbing his forehead and Derek’s nose in apology. “Sorry, dude,” he winced. “You terrified the crap out of me! What was that for? Actually, never mind, not important. You totally disappeared on me today. I had to find out what you’d gone somewhere through Erica! Not cool, man.”

Derek lowered his head and nudged Stiles’ knee with his head. The image was far too cute for Stiles to hold onto his answer.

“Aww, it’s okay, big guy.” He ruffled Derek’s fur. “No need to guilt trip me any further. Whatever it was must have been important, though, to miss out on chilling with the pack.”

Derek turned around, making for the bushes. For a moment Stiles thought he’d just left the conversation, but soon enough Derek came back with something in his mouth. He laid it on the ground, stepping back, and nosed Stiles’ hand until he reached for it.

Stiles lifted it into the air, blinking as he found it was a pair of pants and a new tunic.

He paused, staring at Derek with wide eyes. “You – you left for the day to find me new clothes?”

Derek barked a yes.

Stiles leapt forward without warning, trapping Derek in his arms. He hugged the wolf close to him, squeezing tight and not even bothering to try to resist the manic smile he could feel taking shape on his face. He pulled the clothes on and looked at them.

They were slightly big on him, the sleeves long enough to fold over his hands and keep them warm and the legs _just_ long enough to trip him. They didn’t look new, either, their colours washed out and the fabric stretched in some places. It felt good to be dressed again, especially in clothes that _weren’t_ falling apart, and he dragged his hands across the material dreamily.

Then he narrowed his eyes. “Hold on. Did you go somewhere to steal these?”

Derek, the asshole, turned his back on his and walked off.

“Wha – hey! Derek, I do not condone theft! How dare you! What will the children think?!”

Derek waved his tail, and Stiles wondered if that was the wolf equivalent of flipping the bird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes:
> 
> • So the backstory is slowly being revealed, but not fully - not yet. Stiles is slowly coming to terms with the wolves' grey morals, but I don't think he'll fully get it until he finds out the real reason behind the curse.
> 
> • Speaking of the curse, lots of people guessed that was going to be what it was. So congrats to them! It's kind of a twist on the original "shifts into a wolf during the full moon" trope to, instead, Derek shifting to be a human. Needless to say, it's a day the pack looks forward to the most.
> 
> • A little bit of wolf biology stuck in there, but obviously I'm no expert so feel free to read up about it if you want. A wolf's metabolism basically means that they sit around and chill for a while after eating in order to get digest all that fatty food they just ate. Hence why, in this fic, they're lazing around like cats.
> 
> • This chapter had me killing a lot of my darlings, surprisingly, which made me sad but I do think it was for the better. Some of it was stuff I'll miss, some I'll save for later chapters, and some I was happy to get rid of. It's also why usually my rewritten chapters are like 2 pages longer than the original, but this one was only 1 page longer -- whilst I expanded on the good stuff, I also got rid of a lot of the bad stuff.
> 
> • I have no medical knowledge whatsoever and so the whole cut thing is so dodgy, I do apologise. If anyone wants to lecture me in the comments below please do, I strive for realism in my writing (as long as it goes with my story, of course).
> 
> Please don't hesitate to leave comments and kudos, they give me lots of motivation to keep going and write more of this! A comment a day keeps the writer here to stay, after all :D


	5. Friendly Smiles All Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last week's chapter:
> 
> Stiles learned that Derek was cursed to be a wolf for all days except the full moon, and that there was more to the story that they weren't telling him. They pack spent the day relaxing with some games by the lakeside, after which Derek kindly got Stiles some clothes and further diminished his "ultra buff and grumpy alpha" image.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) This is a totally happy chapter :) Nothing bad happens here at all :) They all have lots of fun and good times :)
> 
> In other news, some warnings here:  
> \- violence and general gore, pretty much up to standard of what you've seen to far so it's not too bad  
> \- panic attack at the end (if you want to skip it, it starts at "The image made something in Stiles' stomach twist" and ends at "We should move.")  
> \- a one-line mention of an implied rape, easy to skip.
> 
> Please enjoy :)

Stiles wasn’t used to waking up with somebody else

He could blame it on his father being the chief, say it was the man’s frown and over-protectiveness that drove any potential partners away. In reality, however, Stiles had once elbowed a girl in the face when he got too excited talking about some bugs he’d found earlier that day.

She hadn’t really appreciated it. Stiles couldn’t blame her.

His apparent two left feet, lanky body, and inability to stay quiet for longer than two seconds meant any suitors stayed far away. Their loss, of course – if they couldn’t handle Stiles when he was rambling on about his niche interests, they certainly couldn’t handle him at his best (which was also him just rambling on about his niche interest, but like, _better_ ).

And, admittedly, sleeping with a wolf was probably a lot more different than sleeping with a person. Less furry, hopefully. But the last time Stiles hadn’t been alone in bed was when his dad was comforting him after his mothers’ death, so he was counting it.

Derek’s face sat right in front of him, balance in the middle of his chest. He was breathing softly, occasionally twitching his paws or ears, and Stiles mused at the kind of dreams he might be having. He studied the wolf’s dark fur, how it was neat and brushed back, clear that the owner made an effort to look nice, yet still mixed with dust and old debris, like Derek dealt with it so often he just gave up and let it stay. His fur wasn’t just black, too, like Stiles had assumed at first – it was a mix of inky and navy colours, the hues swirled around and bleeding into each other until they created an impression of the night sky.

The rest of the cave was just as quiet, the pack huddled together in the middle and sleeping soundly. He watched their chests rise and fall with a modicum of jealousy. He didn’t know why, but he almost wanted to join them – something about a puppy pile looked _comfortable_ and _fun_. Though he appreciated Derek sticking by his side, he wouldn’t mind waking up warmed by fur on all sides.

Still. Derek was a surprisingly good cuddler, he thought as he traced a finger down the wolf’s jaw. You wouldn’t expect it from a big, muscle-y animal like him, but Stiles had woken up several times in the night to find Derek tucked under his chin and snoring. The thought put a smile on Stiles’ face.

After a while of lying there, just breathing, he noticed Derek’s paws began to twitch earnestly. His breath was picking up and he started to kick back at empty fair. Stiles didn’t even have to think before he was shaking Derek awake.

The wolf sprung up, tensed and ready to fight yet clearly still half asleep, only to realise who’d woken him up.

“Sorry for the rough wake up, dude,” Stiles whispered, unable to resist a grin. “Looked like you were having a pretty interesting dream. Were you chasing a squirrel? Or playing fetch? No, wait – someone wouldn’t let you pee on a tree, right?”

Derek finally blinked himself awake, glaring at Stiles. He huffed into his hair grossly, smiling when Stiles pushed him away with a _‘eww, no, Derek stop!’_ Derek stretched and walked over to his pack, nudging them one by one until they were all grumbling and getting up. Stiles continued to look away – _these guys really take their time to get dressed, huh?_ – until a wolf tongue scraped his hand.

Stiles blindly swatted and laughed. “Alright, big guy, I’m up, I’m up. But never do that again, I do not need to think about a grown man licking my hand.” He regretted his words as soon as he said them, looking to see Derek looking just as grossed out. “Aaaand we’re never talking about that again, let’s go.”

Derek snorted, supporting Stiles as they followed the rest of the pack outside. Once there, he watched as the others sniffed the air and curled their lips in distaste, whining to each other. “What’s got you guys all grumpy? You been hanging around wolf-boy too much?” When Derek glared, he shrugged. “What? Oh, is it the ‘wolf-boy’ bit? I can call you wolf- _man_ , dude, don’t worry.”

Next to them, Isaac laughed then pointed to the sky. “There’s rain in the air. Hopefully we’ll have the rest of the day to travel and find shelter before it comes down hard.”

“Travel?” Stiles parroted. “We’re leaving the cave?”

“It’s not safe to stay in one place for too long,” Isaac said. “Hunters might catch up to us, so it’s better to keep moving as soon as possible.”

“I thought wolves had dens?”

“Those with pups,” Cora said, looking Stiles up and down. “Why, are you pregnant, Stiles?”

“No, he just had too much to eat yesterday,” Erica cackled, poking his stomach until he flailed back.

“ _Actually,_ I’ll have you know I didn’t even eat that much. If anything, you guys are starving me.”

Erica shrugged. “We wolves need to eat a lot. Come back to me when you have to run after a lightning-fast rabbit, huh?”

Stiles waved her off. He turned to Boyd. “Am I well enough to move with my injury?”

Malia stuck out her hand. “We could always eat him if he can’t keep up.”

“…uhh, yeah, please don’t do that.”

Malia pouted, as if disappointed that Stiles didn’t agree to be eaten, and Boyd stepped forward with a sigh. “As long as you don’t go jumping into more lakes or anything else stupid, you should be fine. Maybe you need a walking stick,” he said thoughtfully, and Stiles made a face.

“Why can’t I just keep leaning on Derek?”

Boyd looked up, an amused expression on his face. “Because he’s the alpha, and he needs to lead the pack to where we’re going?”

“Ah,” Stiles said, his cheeks flushing. It was easy to forget that Derek was practically in charge of everyone here – with no mouth to give orders, it often looked like the pack was just doing whatever they wanted or had a magical hive-mind to keep them on the same page, but if you watched carefully you’d see all the silent signals Derek gave. The lift of his tail, the shifting of his weight, his flicking ears. The pack followed like it was some secret language, scoping out new parts of the territory or guarding the cave without a word having to be said.

As Boyd wandered off, he sat himself down on a log and sighed. He’d only just realised that Derek wasn’t around when the wolf emerged from the cave, carrying something in his jaws. “Where’d you go, bud? I totally just didn’t embarrass myself in front of Boyd, but it would have been nice if you—”

He stopped when Derek pushed something in his hands. It was a section of meat, preserved surprisingly well for being in the wilderness, and Stiles realised it was from the deer the pack had caught a few days ago. He looked at Derek. “Did you steal a piece for me?”

Derek pushed at the meat impatiently.

Stiles rolled his eyes and bit into it. He gave Derek a pat on the head. “Thanks, man. And don’t worry, I totally _will_ go around bragging to everyone on how I’m getting more food privileges. You’re welcome.”

Derek rolled his eyes and walked away.

Boyd checked Stiles’ side one more time and gave him a walking stick. Cora, surprisingly, handed over the knife she’d been sharpening days earlier and said, “this is for self-defence. Hurt us and we’ll eat you.” Stiles hoped he hadn’t looked too terrified at that. Besides, he doubted he’d ever have to use it – the pack would jump in to rescue him long before trouble came, he was sure.

For the first time, Stiles had the joy of seeing all of them fully shifted.

Derek, of course, lead the pack with his head held high and a determined stride to his gait. He looked straight ahead, only shifting his ears back when his “pups” made some kind of noise or started getting too rowdy.

A few steps behind him was Cora, her smoke coloured fur giving off an aura of calmness, but her sharp, twisting claws ensured Stiles did nothing to annoy her as they walked. Next to Cora walked Boyd, a dark brown wolf that towered over even Derek himself with his bunched muscles. Cor and Boyd seemed to be the second ones in charge, keeping an eye on their surroundings and making sure nobody strayed away.

Erica wasn’t too far behind, a yellow tint to her fur that matched her human hair and a wild light in her eyes. She kept nipping at Isaac’s heels, corralling the cinnamon-coloured wolf to walk straight into Stiles, who walked beside them. Whenever he tried to tell Erica off, she’d just flash him a smile and straighten up fast enough before neither Cora nor Boyd could see anything.

The rear was brought up by Malia’s spiny coyote form, who kept eyeing Stiles up and licking her teeth obviously. Stiles couldn’t tell whether she was doing it to mess with him or if she really was hungry, but either way he wasn’t risking it, and stayed away.

It was strange to be the only human there. Back at the cave, he always had at least one person to annoy, mostly Derek, but here everyone was focused and unwilling to stop longer than a few minutes. Whenever he complained about stopping they glared at him, and if he broke the silence to tell a joke they would only send him a bemused look before walking on, leaving Stiles to entertain himself.

Fun fact: knives were a lot sharper than they looked. After the fourth time Stiles nicked himself, Boyd growled in a threat to take it away. Stiles clutched it close to him and promised to be quiet. That only lasted a few minutes before he cut himself again, naturally.

Sure enough, the sky continued to darken over the course of the day, promising plenty of rain in the evening. Stiles started to look for some quick shelter but the wolves didn’t seem too worried, so he assumed they had a better grasp on when the rain would come and followed their lead. Walking with the stick was a lot harder than leaning on Derek, but Stiles was determined not to hamper the pack, ignoring Boyd’s judging stares as he hobbled along.

Finally, the wolves stopped by a glade. Derek waved his tail and curled his lip, nodding his head at Stiles and into the forest. The weres communicated without language, leaving Stiles completely lost until Isaac shifted back into a human.

“Oh, _more_ nudity!” Stiles sighed and closed his eyes. “Great.”

“The pack’s going to hunt a rabbit.” Isaac helped Stiles settle next to a tree, sitting beside him. “I've been given babysitting duty.”

“Oh, we’re going to have some good times, Isaac, as _soon_ as you put on clothes.”

Isaac sighed. “You humans are so weird. Come on, then, cough up your tunic.”

“What? No.” Stiles frowned down at his clothes. “They’re mine. Derek got them for _me_ , get your own whipped alpha.”

Derek huffed as if protesting being called whipped, at which Stiles just grinned. Isaac traded a significant look with his pack but said nothing, simply holding out his hand. “It’s either that or I stay naked. Your choice.”

Stiles scowled but took his tunic off and handed it over. For a moment he could have sworn one of the wolves did some kind of whistle-whine ting – probably Erica – and kept his eyes closed until Isaac put on the clothing. It was long, going down to his thighs, and Stiles gagged at the thought of what it could be touching.

No, unfortunately, not ‘could’. It was definitely touching his dick. Awesome, Stiles’ tunic had now touched Isaac’s dick. Great. Even if Isaac gave it back to him, there was _no_ way he was wearing that thing again.

Derek looked them over and nodded. Before he left, though, he gave a quick lick to Stiles’ forehead and butted his cheek with his nose. Stiles wrestled him into a headlock, breathing into his ear obnoxiously until the wolf shook him off.

“Exactly, that’s what’s it’s like when you lick me.” He stuck his tongue out. “Now get out of here before I tackle you to the floor, dude, and don’t think I _won’t_.”

Derek snorted, shaking his fur and calling the pack to follow him before leading them out of the forest. Stiles sighed, content, and leaned back on the tree before looking left to see Isaac’s smug face.

“What?”

“You’re an idiot.”

Stiles spluttered. “How? I haven’t even done anything?!”

“Exactly,” Isaac said. He poked at his shirt, frowning thoughtfully. “What’s with you humans and clothing, then?”

“Uhh, because it’s normal.” Stiles sniffed delicately. “How long have you been a werewolf that you forget even that?”

“All my life,” he said, and Stiles blinked.

“Wait, all your life? You can be born a werewolf?”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Believe it or not, werewolves aren’t just hyper aggressive monsters who go around turning every other human. The bite is a gift, and it’s given rarely.”

“Oh.” Stiles shifted, a bit uncomfortable. “Are all of you born, then?”

“Most of us. Derek and Cora came from a big family of werewolves, pretty big figureheads in our world.”

“What, are they like werewolf royalty or something?” Stiles smirked, but it fell at Isaac’s sombre face.

“ _Were_ , maybe.”

“What happened to them?”

Isaac stared into the distance for a while, lost in thought, before snapping back. “Not my story to tell, and none of _your_ business. Malia’s their cousin, so she was born, too. The only bitten ones are Erica and Boyd.”

“Really?” Stiles frowned. “I mean, Boyd I get. But Erica seems almost… the wolfiest of them all.”

Isaac grinned, showing off his sharp teeth. “Erica was glad to become a wolf. Long story short, the bite cured an illness that’d been threatening her life. She put all her energy into training and gaining control of her powers. You could argue she’s even more in control than Malia, who practically grew up in her coyote skin.”

“Uhh, definitely more in control,” Stiles felt the need to point out. “No doubt about that. What about Boyd?”

“Boyd doesn’t really like to talk about his past. All I know is that he didn’t want to be alone anymore, so when Derek offered the bite he took it. The moment he and Erica met, they clicked, and they’ve been inviting people into their threesomes ever since.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.” When Isaac shrugged, he gaped. “Wait – are you saying _you’ve_ been with them?! Isaac, what the fuck! I need to know all the details, man, don’t deprive a desperate virgin of your sexcapades!”

Isaac laughed, sprawling down onto the ground. “A gentleman never reveals his secrets, Stiles, you know that.”

“I clearly don’t.” Stiles waved his hands. “What part of ‘virgin’ didn’t you hear?”

“You know, most people don’t usually advertise that so much.”

Stiles smiled playfully. “I don’t think you have a say in what most _‘people’_ do, hmm?” Isaac snorted, conceding with a nod, and Stiles watched him for a moment. “What about you?” Isaac looked up and he said, “how did you join the pack?”

Isaac blew out a heavy breath. “That’s a loaded question.” When Stiles began to apologise, he waved him off. “It’s fine. All you need to know is I had a shitty brother, an even shittier dad, and when the Hales came around I was happy to go with them.”

Stiles perked. “You knew the Hales?”

Isaac nodded, taking a long look at Stiles. “They were good people,” he told him. “They didn’t deserve what happened.”

Stiles blinked, left at a loss. He opened his mouth and closed it, but before he could think of anything to say Isaac stood up.

“I’m going to go piss,” he said. “You fine staying here?”

Stiles nodded. He relaxed against the tree as Isaac left, watching as the were walked until he disappeared into the forest. It was fairly quiet beside the occasional twitter of birds, so he closed his eyes and drew his mind to the information he’d just learned.

He was deep in thought when he suddenly heard a rustle in the bushes. Stiles paused, hesitating before calling, “Isaac, is that you? Got scared alone in the dark?”

When there was no response, he reached into the pocket of his pants and gripped his knife. He tensed, waiting for something to attack, but after more silence he sighed.

“Verry funny, Isaac. You scared me. Good job. Proud of yourself.” He rolled his eyes back, leaning on his stick as he stood. “Seriously, get out of there before the pack comes back. I bet I could convince Derek to make you sit in time out, that’d teach you a lesson!”

As Stiles reached the brush, he had just one second to realise that something was _very wrong_ before a pair of arms snaked around his waist and _squeezed_.

He yowled, falling to the ground as his side ached and ached. He managed to turn onto his back just in time to see four men step out of the bushes, armed with wicked grins and bow and arrows. As one of them stepped forward to straddle Stiles’ chest, the boy tried to search the ground for wherever the knife had gone.

A hand gripped his chin and pulled, and Stiles had the sick sensation of reliving the night of his sacrifice.

“Well, this is going to be _much_ easier than I expected.” The hunter looked him up and down, a dangerous glint entering his eye when he saw the bandage at Stiles’ waist. Slowly, he leaned forward and drew a careful hand along its side before suddenly pressing _hard_.

Stiles whimpered, throwing his head back and flinching at the sound it made. Above him, the hunters all laughed.

“Listen up, boy, and we won’t hurt you too much.” The man straddling him cupped his throat, clutching just hard enough that Stiles began to choke. He leaned forward, his sickly breath invading Stiles’ lungs, and with foul breath whispered, “tell us where the wolves are.”

Stiles froze. He swallowed, looking around quickly. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Like fuck you don’t.” The hand pressed harder and the edge of Stiles’ vision grew hazy. “We heard you calling out for them. Derek, huh?” He looked back at the others, grinning. “Can you imagine we’re lucky enough to find the Hales themselves? That fur is going to be worth a _lot_ of money.”

Stiles gritted his teeth, using the hunter’s distraction to paw at the ground. It took a few precious seconds, but finally he reached something that felt like a handle. Without thinking he swung his hand until it met the hunter’s shoulder. The man yowled, falling on his back and off Stiles. There was a cut along his face from the knife in Stiles’ grip, and the boy got up as quick as he could and ran.

He didn’t get far, however. His injury had been made even worse by the man, and it felt like a massive black hole throbbing every second. He tried his best to run away but collapsed after only a few metres, grazing his knees with a hiss.

This time, the hunter grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled backward, making Stiles stretch his neck. He stole the boy’s knife and turned the weapon against him, pressing so hard that Stiles could feel it drawing blood.

“Last fucking chance, runt,” the hunter growled. “You’re really defending the Hale pack, _really?_ Did those filthy monsters brainwash you too? Trick you into thinking they were anything about inhuman?” He laughed cruelly. “Or is one of them mounting you? I bet it’s that Derek fucker, isn’t it? We all know how much he loves to chase his prey – did he tell you about Kate? Did he tell you about how she was helpless, how he just took whatever the fuck he wanted like the beast he is?”

Stiles’ chest quickened, his breath coming in faster than he could count them. He felt like he was only a second away from spitting blood, from choking on it until he died, and he struggled restlessly.

The hunter breathed against his neck. “Just you wait. They trick you into thinking you’re safe, into thinking they’re great, then they bite you and turn you. They’re wild fucking _animals_ , they just _bite_ whatever the fuck they want.”

“Fuck…” Stiles rasped, “you…”

The hunter chuckled and lifted his knife. Stiles braced himself for it, closing his eyes and praying for his father to be safe, to be happy, to never find out what really happened to him, and waited for the blow.

Except it never came.

Instead, there was a roar that shook the ground, and the hunter was knocked to the earth.

Stiles watched with wide eyes as Derek’s rippling body towered over the hunter, his eyes red and his teeth drawn into a snarl. The hunter struck out, swing the knife at Derek’s side, but the wolf dodged it just in time. Behind them, Cora threw herself at another man, teaming up with Isaac to take him down and shove him to the ground. Malia seemed perfectly fine tearing into a hunter by herself, ruthless but efficient in her movements, and Isaac and Boyd went after the final hunter with a vicious wrath.

As Stiles tried to crawl away, a hand grabbed his leg and he screamed. He kicked wildly, managing to throw the hunter off and scramble back, and Derek dragged the man back before he could try to reach for Stiles again. Stiles watched as Derek towered around the hunter, pouncing and biting, giving the man barely enough time to aim his knife into Derek’s side before the wolf clamped down on his neck, stilling him once and for all.

Finally, it fell silent.

Stiles stared at the ground wide-eyed when a figure appeared before him. Derek surveyed him quickly, his eyes growing wide once he saw Stiles’ side. He made to gently poke at it, his movements so slow and so kind, to check it out, when Stiles flinched.

Derek froze. He stared at Stiles, rooted to the spot, something akin to regret in his eyes. Then, he turned away.

For a split-second Stiles reached out, but his hand met air. He sat there, staring, unable to relax, when Body’s body materialised next to him.

“Shit,” he spat, feeling Stiles’ waist. “Those fuckers messed it up bad. I have to stop the bleeding, and _fast._ ” He waved his hand at the pack, waiting impatiently as they panicked and ran around. Eventually Cora pulled out bandages from one of the hunters’ packs and handed it over. They looked poor and not the best quality, but Boyd sighed and said, “this’ll have to do,” before getting to work.

Stiles zoned out for a bit, staring at the ground blankly. It seemed like hours passed until Boyd finally pulled away, the new bandages already leaking red through the material.

“These won’t hold for long. I’ll need new ones before Stiles loses too much blood. _Proper_ ones.” Boyd turned to Derek, who was sitting at the far edge of the clearing, staring at Stiles.

Their eyes met, and the boy stopped breathing, remembering the hunters’ words. Was it true, what they said? Did they just make it up to scare him into action? OR did it really happen – were these wolves _actual_ monsters, did Isaac lie about giving the bite? Did Derek really hurt whoever ‘Kate’ was?

Derek turned his eyes to Boyd, nodding slowly before melting into the shadows. Stiles instantly relaxed and he could feel the rest of the pack’s eyes on him. He chose to ignore it.

He was left to sit on his own for a while until Isaac huddled up to him, hands shaking and biting his lip nervously. “I’m really sorry, Stiles. I didn’t hear them until I came back, and by then you looked like you were in some deep shit. I thought it’d be better if I got the pack instead of coming back on my own.”

Stiles eyed the dead bodies in the clearing until Isaac touched his shoulder, breaking him out of it. “It’s fine,” he said, voice crackling. “You guys… you saved me. It’s fine.”

The pack traded looks but said nothing, instead moving in some pattern that was unknown to Stiles. Malia brought out a rabbit and Erica left to collect firewood. When she returned, everyone gathered to build a fire-pit and hoist the rabbit overhead, cutting the animal into small pieces that Stiles could eat.

Throughout it all, Stiles stared into nothingness. The world outside sounded muffled, like he was underwater, and he barely noticed anyone moving around, let alone talking to him. Instead, his mind was trapped in the hunter’s words.

_Did those filthy monsters brainwash you too?_

Stiles remembered the stories from his village. Of the horrid, evil wolves, of how they would kill everything in sight, led by a crazed urge that could never be filled. Mothers would tell it to their children, elders would lecture the new warriors with it, and friends would tease each other about it.

Ever since Stiles arrived, it had been nothing like that. It was full of grumpy, moody know-it-alls, sure, but nobody had tried to _kill_ him. Well, apart from Malia. But after a while Stiles learned that was just what she was like. Prickly, yes, but still caring. They all were. They’d saved him _twice_ , now.

And the way Isaac talked about everyone – these people didn’t sound like ‘monsters’, they didn’t sound ‘inhuman’. They sounded kind and funny and likeable. Isaac’s words directly contrasted the hunter’s stories, implied everything he said was a _lie_.

Stiles couldn’t trust his words.

_Did he tell you about Kate?_

But Derek… Derek was the leader of the pack. He was the alpha, the one who led them and told them what to do. He was the one who carried Stiles to the cave, who stayed by his feet as he slept, who stole clothes and food for him to have.

_Did he tell you about Kate? Did he tell you about how she was helpless, how he just took whatever the fuck he wanted like the beast he is?”_

Derek had saved him.

Derek had warmed him at night.

Derek had stolen clothes for him.

Derek had killed the hunters for him.

Stiles didn’t know who Kate was, but he was going to judge Derek for her story, he’d hear both sides first.

Night fell, and Derek came back. His mouth was filled with what looked like thousands of bandages, certainly more than was needed, and once he set them at Boyd’s footsteps he quickly padded away.

Stiles watched him with a hollow feeling in his chest, barely paying attention as Boyd wiped at his skin. When he was done, Stiles got onto two feet and made way for the direction into which Derek had disappeared.

Cora stopped him. “My brother is the most important person to me in the world,” she said quietly. “We’ve lost enough. I told you if you hurt us, I’d kill you.”

Stiles’ jaw clenched. “Cora, I – I get that, okay? But I heard something and I reacted instinctively. You can’t blame me for that.”

“You’d trust hunters over us?!”

“Well, you guys haven’t exactly told me anything!” Stiles growled. “You’re keeping all these secrets and avoiding telling me _anything_. Gods forbid I try to see both sides to it! But whatever, I’ve made up my mind now. I’m going to apologise to Derek.”

Cora stared at him, then said, “what did the hunters tell you?”

“They mentioned the name Kate.”

Almost instantly, Cora’s eyes lit up hold. A subvocal growl travelled through her chest and she had to visibly calm down before her next words. “Derek will tell you about Kate if he wants to. But until then, you have no right to judge his actions.”

Stiles nodded, but Cora watched him for a moment longer.

“You know they were going to kill you, right?” she said, albeit softly. “They wouldn’t have let you go even if you did help them. You’d be right there on the ground, with the hunters, if we didn’t kill get here in time.”

“I know.” Stiles closed his eyes. “It’s just… hard. To process. To see.”

Cora nodded, touching his shoulder. She stared into the distance, then quirked a brow at him. “Did you know Derek had a pet bunny as a kid?” Stiles shook his head and she smiled. “Well, not as a _pet_. Our mom wouldn’t let us keep animals as pets, said that’s exactly what humans did to dogs and that it wasn’t dignified. But this rabbit had a burrow near our village, and Derek would feed it carrots and grass every morning until it wasn’t scared of him.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.”

“Then one day a hawk ate it.”

“Okay, not so sweet.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “The point, idiot, is that when Derek found out, he cried for like a full week. Locked himself in his room and wouldn’t let anyone even, even Mom.” She crossed her arms. “He did that over a rabbit he knew for a month.”

Stiles blinked. It certainly helped to break the stoic, grumpy attitude Derek tried to give off, but Stiles already knew that it was a front. He sent Cora a thankful look and the girl backed off, leaving him with one more lingering look before he set off to find Derek.

He found the wolf curled around himself under a tree, his normally large body twisted into itself pitifully. He didn’t even look up when Stiles approached, covered in scrapes and blood and debris, his head buried deep beneath his paws without a single twitch. The image made something in Stiles’ stomach twist, and before he knew it he was hugging Derek close to his body.

“ _Shit,”_ he gasped. “Derek, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have pulled away, you were only saving me, but _fucking gods_ they were _choking_ me and I almost died, and, and—”

The tears came without his permission, and they didn’t stop.

Derek tucked his head into Stiles’ neck, licking gently at the cut until the boy felt no pain at all. He buried his head in Derek’s thick fur, failing to muffle his sobs as he cried. “I was so scared, I was so _scared_ and you have and saved me and killed them and there was so much blood and I hated it, this is the second time I’ve almost died in only _days,_ Derek, in _days_ , I can’t – I can’t – I can’t—”

Derek whimpered, pressing closer and closer until Stiles was on his back and Derek was draped above him. Stiles clutched tight, hating the sound of his cries as they echoed through the trees. It took a while for the panic attack to pass. By the time it did, Stiles was dead tired, barely able to lift his head when Derek curled to move around him. It was only then that Stiles noticed it was finally raining.

“We should move,” he said, his voice weak. “We should find shelter.”

Derek wrapped himself tighter around Stiles.

Ever so slowly, the other members of the pack joined them. Erica lowered herself across Stiles’ back, protecting his neck from the rain. Isaac offered his shirt back – Stiles briefly wondered where that had been before his head started to pound – and laid down next to Derek. Boyd laid himself at Stiles’ feet, Cora next to him, and Malia chuffed at his chin before throwing herself over Cora.

Soon enough, Stile was wrapped up in a were-creature cocoon, covered from head to toe from the wind and rain.

Stiles wiped at his eyes, his smile watery as he went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes:
> 
> • Longest chapter so far, and with good reason! Decided I wouldn't cut down for the sake of keeping it the same length as other chapters otherwise it'd break the pace and stuff. I don't have a lot of experience with fight scenes so let me know how I did?
> 
> • I won't really be diving too deeply into everyone's backstories, but it might crop up here and there. This was also practice for me writing Isaac as I haven't really written him a lot. Hopefully I didn't fuck it up??
> 
> • So Stiles is slowly coming to terms with the pack's dodgy behaviour, especially since they've saved him a boatload now. Of course he isn't going to accept them killing innocents until he knows what _really_ happened, but I do hope I've done a decent job of portraying how everything is grey as opposed to black and white. In other words, I have no idea what I'm doing and am really appreciating all the comments and kudos I've been getting lol
> 
> • On another note, both Word and AO3 are convinced that "cuddler" isn't a word and keep demanding I change it. It's in dictionaries! There's spelling guides online! Also if you see any spelling mistakes and want to correct me, I'd really appreciate that as it saves work for me when I re-check this for spelling mistakes next week.
> 
> Kudos are really appreciated, but comments even more so! Reviews, thoughts, and even "I liked this" all go to help me motivate myself to write more. Thanks for reading <3


	6. Oh No He's Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last week's chapter:
> 
> After talking about the pack with Isaac, Stiles got saved just in time when a group of hunters attacked him. Recognising all that the pack has done for him, Stiles realised that he had even more questions he wanted answers to now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for going missing last week! Some personal stuff came up but we're back on track. Discussions of alleged rape, starts with ""The hunter…” He met Derek’s eyes." and ends two lines down, pretty easy to skip. Other than that you're good to go :)

The next few weeks passed by in a routine.

They’d find a campsite, stay there for a day or two, and then move on. Stiles was partial to the cave shelters – you’d be surprised how easy it is for bugs to crawl up your nose, and he learned the _hard_ way – but fate seemed determined to give him anything but. It was okay, though, because at this point he was used to falling asleep in the middle of a clearing surrounded by wolves.

That was new, too. Ever since the hunters incident – Stiles tried to call it “Stiles’ Daring Escape and Rescue” but Erica shot it down by saying that he did no work and therefore didn’t have the power to name it – the wolves never spent a night away from him. He was no longer cold, no longer complained about this thin clothing, because he knew by nightfall he’d be surrounded by six warm bodies.

Derek barely ever left his side. Despite the fact that his walking stick had practically become his knew best friend, Derek always walked with him and ran with him, and when he left to hunt he always footed around Stiles for ten minutes until he was all but kicked away. Stiles wasn’t allowed to be alone, of course, with at least one member of the pack always staying behind. Isaac was particularly guilty, offering almost every time until Stiles threatened that he’d start to grow sick of him.

All in all, it wasn’t that bad.

Sure, Stiles definitely missed home, and sometimes dreamed about coming back to his village’s open arms. But then he thought about it some more – how Deaton had stabbed him, how his dad and Scott had already begun grieving, how Jackson had apologised to Stiles.

It made him question if it wasn’t better to stay here, to make a new home with the pack. They were happy to have him, to hunt for him and care for him. Each time he woke up from a nightmare, he had six pairs of snouts sniffing at him and six tails wrapping around his body. And he fit in well with them – back home he was kind of the odd one out, too energetic to be a responsible chief like his father but too weird to fit in with the more active, serious roles.

If Stiles was going to be stuck with anyone, unable to get home, he thought Derek’s pack wasn’t bad company.

His side started to heal better. Boyd had practically glared him into submission, going into long lectures and rants if he saw Stiles so much as wince, but that rigorous worrying meant he felt better and better each day.

Cora answered some questions about the hunters that he had, and Erica kept crowing on about training him to be able to fight. Stiles and sharp things didn’t get along, though, so he happily opted out. Isaac helped him get some better clothes, those torn and bled onto during the fight thrown away in lieu of some nice cotton material that felt great on his skin. He didn’t really think much of Malia until he dropped an entire elk’s leg in front of him one night, strutting away with a _‘that took a lot of work to track down so you better eat all of it.’_

It was good.

Soon enough, the full moon approached. The pack began vibrating with excitement, talking about what they’d do with human-Derek, how they had come up with so many games and wanted to see what Derek thought on this and that.

Stiles was excited, too. It would be his first chance of seeing Derek in human form. Sure, he’d been rescued by him the night of his sacrifice, but he didn’t remember anything past a broad chest and muscles arms. Not that that was a bad memory. But this would be _different_ – he’d hear Derek’s voice for the first time, be able to see if he was as grumpy a human as he was a wolf, be able to see what he truly looked like.

One day, when they were all relaxing after a big hunt with hot-as-hell weather, Stiles laid down next to Erica. “What’s Derek like? As a human, I mean.”

Erica opened her eyes from where she’d been sunbathing. “Scowly,” she said after a while. “Frowny. He uses his eyebrows a lot.”

Stiles grinned. “Is that so?” He nudged Derek, who was sleeping by his feet. The wolf just huffed and turned his head away. Stiles poked him playfully, then shook his head. “What does he look like?”

“Black hair. Green eyes.” She smiled to herself. “A nice chest.”

Stiles hit her shoulder, scowling, and then quickly realised he didn’t know _why_ he’d done that. He ignored Erica’s prodding gaze, instead looking across to Cora. “I don’t trust you, you have a thing for him so you’re biased. Cora, what’s he like?”

“You’re going to his _sister_ for non-bias?” Erica snorted. “Okay.”

“He has gross bunny teeth.”

Derek’s head snapped up, and he whined at her, almost as if saying _‘Coooooooooooooora!”_

Stiles laughed, stroking Derek’s back. “Aww, it’s okay, man. I think bunny teeth are cute, actually.”

“What a _surprise_ ,” Cora drawled, blocking the sun with her hand. “And he doesn’t have green eyes, he has brown.”

“No, they’re definitely green,” Erica said. She pushed as Boyd, who was lounging beside her. “Der has green eyes, right?”

“I thought they were blue?” Boyd said helplessly, and Stiles watched as she and Boyd devolved into an argument.

“Alright, so… Derek apparently has rainbow eyes?” Stiles said. “Or is it like a werewolf thing? Do your eyes change colour?”

Isaac hummed, just getting back from refilling Stiles’ waterskin at the nearby lake. As he handed it over, he said, “they do, but only when we’re shifted. And it’s only like three colours. Derek is just a freak of nature.”

“Well, we all knew that,” Stiles said, laughing as he poked Derek with his foot.

Derek gave a heavy sigh, getting up with a baleful look at Stiles before moving and lowering himself across Stiles’ chest. Stiles, who had taken off his shirt to deal with the extreme heat and didn’t have the muscles to hold a ninety-pound wolf on his chest.

“Derek, I’m going to overheat! Or suffocate! Seriously, dude, it’s like having an entire tree thrown right on you, what the _hell!”_

Derek nipped at his ear and they tousled for a moment, until they were both on the ground and covered in dirt. The rest watched on with exasperated expressions, though Malia looked half ready to join in (just so she could kick Stiles’ ass, probably) until Stiles kicked Derek off and sprawled across the ground with his tongue out.

“I’m dead,” he said dramatically, tossing a hand over his eye. “Leave my body for the ravens.”

“It’s crows, you idiot,” Cora said, and Stiles ignored her.

“It’s okay, I deserve it.” He pretended to sob. “I lived a good life. I want to thank all of you, and let you know that I’ll be waiting up in heaven— _MOTHER FUC—”_

He wheezed as Derek sat on his chest with a smug grin.

“Oh, screw you, Derek,” he huffed.

Somewhere behind him, Isaac sniffed and said, “gods, I hope not.”

Stiles flushed, and he jolted without realising, sending Derek off his chest. He instinctively leaned down to make sure he was okay before narrowing his eyes. “You totally deserved that. Karma, man. _Karma.”_

Derek sent him an unimpressed look, nosing dirt and leaves out of his fur. Stiles pushed him to lie down and took over, asking Isaac as he did so, “so what was that about colour changing eyes?”

Isaac snorted. “Oh, so you remembered other people exist, now?” He shrugged and continued. “Wolves have three eye colours – gold, blue, and anger. Coyotes only have gold and blue, right?” he asked, and Malia nodded. “Meaning still apply, naturally.”

“Rules?” Stiles echoed.

“Red eyes mean someone’s an alpha. You could ask Derek to show you at the full moon,” he said. “Gold means beta, someone in a pack who follows an alpha.”

“And blue?”

Isaac hesitated, then said, “it means that you’ve taken an innocent life.”

Stiles paused, stilling in his brushing of Derek’s fur. When the wolf noticed the stop, he opened his eyes then, after a few seconds, nudged Stiles’ hand. Stiles blinked, then went back to brushing. “So like, how red is red? Like dark enough that you could pass as human, or like radioactive red?”

Isaac smiled, relieved, and they got swept away by the conversation.

The day of the full moon, the sky was filled with clouds. The pack gave it cursory glanced but nothing else, and as Stiles walked beside them he asked, “if the cloud covers the moon, is the full moon stopped? Would Derek suddenly turn back into his wolfy-self?”

Next to him, Derek paused, levelling him with a deadpan expression.

“It’s a legitimate question, Derek!” Stiles said, chasing him as he walked on, almost hurrying up. “You can’t blame me for being curious!”

They decided to settle in an alcove on the side of a mountain, Stiles walking off to collect and set up a firepit. The pack gave another large hunt, talking about how it was cause for celebration and _‘I don’t_ care _if we ate only yesterday, Stiles, this is a big celebration and it deserves food.’_ The others agreed.

Finally, nightfall came and a fire was lit. Everyone was gathered around it, each having their own conversations with Derek at the same time. Poor guy looked stressed out, never one for much talking, but their excitement was infectious and he didn’t bother to stop them.

The moon rose to a high part of the sky and, for a moment, a cloud grazed over it.

Sure enough, that didn’t stop Derek from shifting.

He’d seen the others shift before, multiple times, so whilst he wasn’t _used_ _to_ what was going to happen, he was prepared. Only the others’ full shifts had been smaller and simpler, but Derek’s wolf was large and muscled and powerful, and watching him turn into a human, watching everything _change_ so much was…

Stiles stared with wide eyes as the wolf grew bigger and bigger, black fur turning shorter and lighter until he was faced with a human Derek. It was a little surreal. True to Erica’s words, he had scruffy black hair, with thick stubble lining a sharp jaw and eyes that seemed to change colour depending on where the light was. Derek was muscled, his arms thick and bulky, his chest doubly so, and Stiles pointed skipped his legs as he observed the fine specimen of man in front of him.

Derek cleared his throat, putting a hand up to his neck. Everyone waited with anticipation, watching as he blinked at them. In a rough, unused, _sends-shivers-down-your-spine_ voice, he croaked out, “what?”

At once, everyone cheered. Cora ran up to him and jumped, seemingly squeezing the life out of him by the look on his face. Isaac was next, sniffing his alpha obnoxiously and clinging like a lost puppy who hadn’t seen his owner for hours. The rest of the pack joined, and eventually Stiles was the only one who hadn’t joined the puppy pile.

Derek met his eyes, his own so black and piercing that Stiles felt like he’d just bared his entire soul to the world.

Stiles cleared his throat and said, “well, I’m not hugging you until you put some clothes on.”

Derek’s grin was _beautiful._

Derek looked good in clothes. The day before, Stiles was pointedly stolen—uh, _borrowed_ , some clothes from a neighbouring village. He’d been horrified to find out that the rest were fine with Derek walking round with no clothes (though, really, what had he been expecting?) and held it in the wolf’s face until he had no choice but to agree.

Secretly Stiles thought Derek had just been difficult to wind him up, but it was kind of fun, so whatever.

It was… weird to see Derek sitting next to him. To see him breathing, blinking, nodding, talking, and think _‘a couple hours ago, this guy was a wolf, and in a couple hours he’ll go_ back _to being a wolf.’_ It was a little difficult to reconcile his two Dereks – er, _the_ two Dereks – but he found small similarities.

The shine in his eyes when someone was saying something exciting.

The eyeroll he gave when something stupid had just been said.

The curve of his mouth when he smiled.

The way he ducked his head when embarrassed, trying to get away from teasing without breaking down.

_It was really…_

…

Uh.

Weird.

Yeah. That was it. Weird. Not, uh, anything else. Because otherwise _that_ would be weird, and Stiles didn’t need that shit.

The pack was practically vibrating, talking over each other to hear what Derek was saying in response to their questions. After Cora at them a bit, they calmed down and began to (calmly) discuss plans for future travel and hunting.

Stiles kept a keen eye on the moon, aware they’d only get a few hours with human Derek, and not to waste it. He didn’t speak much, content to listen to Derek’s voice as it rumbled through his throat, his laughter and even sometimes snorting when someone said something particularly funny, his hands as he talked and gestured.

Stiles was caught up in staring a bit when a pair of hands snapped their fingers in front of him. “Hmm? What?”

Erica pulled her hand back and smirked. “I _said,_ finish your leg piece before it drops to the floor. Or Malia eats it. You know, after you’ve finished drooling over Derek, of course.”

Stiles blinked. “What – I’m not – I don’t know what – _you’re_ drooling over – whatever.”

He looked from the corner of his eye to see Derek’s face turn pink, ducking his head into his chin. Stiles bit at his nails as he tried to calm himself down, jumping when Derek’s hand came up to stop him.

“Don’t do that,” he said kindly, and Stiles nodded like it was scripture.

They continued to chatter about nothing for a while. Eventually, Stiles cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to interrupt this awesome atmosphere, but I was promised an explanation to this whole curse thing?”

The pack quietened, their eyes flickering to Derek. Derek kept his eyes glued to the ground, the previous comfort he’d had only a second ago gone. For a moment Stiles thought he’d refuse to say anything. Then Derek spoke.

“The stories… the stories you’ve been told, about werewolves. They’re not true. They’ve been twisted to hide the truth, what _really_ happened, because humans can’t stand to be the villains.”

Stiles held his breath. “…what really happened, then?”

Derek closed his eyes. “Cora and I were born in a large pack. Our mother, our alpha, had influence over the shifter world, so we were a big target to hunters. We’d done nothing wrong, turned no one that didn’t want to be turned, killed no one who was innocent. They didn’t care about that, though.”

Derek paused, his voice failing. Stiles didn’t think as he grabbed his hand, just squeezed and offered him a smile when Derek met his eyes.

“I… I was barely a man when it happened, only sixteen summers old. A girl from another village approached me, said she heard my family were great hunters and wanted to learn our skills. I didn’t think about it – she was pretty and made me feel important, so I said yes. Easily. So, so easily.

“One day, when I got hurt during a practise hunt, I accidentally showed my eyes. I thought she’d be scared, that she’d run away and tell the others. Instead, she said she loved me and wanted to stay with me.”

Tears welled in Derek’s eyes, and without warning Cora hugged him. She didn’t let go until he calmed down again, breath shaky.

“It was a lie,” Cora growled out. “The bitch lied to him, made him trust her, then next thing we know, our whole village is on fire. We were the only two out of family who made it out.”

Derek nodded. “The next few days, we hid in a hole in the ground. It was the only shelter we could find. We no longer had a family or a home, but we were trying to get by as best we could.” He looked to Isaac, who held the same pain in his eyes, and Stiles remembered that he’d known the Hales before they’d died.

“I’d gone out to find some rabbits for us when I saw… _her_ again.” Derek ground his teeth together. “She was standing there, perfectly happy, smile on her face, like she hadn’t just set an entire village full of innocent werewolves and children ablaze. She laughed, kicked me down, and brought another man out of the shadows.

“He said words in a language I didn’t understand, waved his hand, and then… I don’t know.”

Cora sighed, combing back her brother’s hair. “I found him in the morning, passed out in front of our shelter, a wolf. We tried everything, went everywhere, but found nothing. Isaac and I thought he’d be stuck as a wolf forever, but when the full moon came, he turned into a human.”

Stiles winced, imagining the first time it must have happened. The hope and joy they must have felt, finally getting their alpha back, their brother, only for him to be turned back into a wolf mere hours later.

“Was…” Stiles sighed. “Was the girl Kate?” He knew the answer to that question even before Derek nodded, before he flinched at the name like it was a physical wound on his body. “Who was the other man?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “She didn’t say his name, didn’t even speak to him. He just covered his face with a cloak and performed the spell. The only thing I saw was a tattoo.” He rubbed the back of his neck slowly. “After the spell, when he walked away and put his cloak down, I saw a tattoo on his neck. Three spirals: a triskelion.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and Stiles didn’t want to say his next words, but he _needed_ to know.

“The hunter…” He met Derek’s eyes. “When he talked about Kate, he made it sound like…”

Derek laughed bitterly. “They love to tell that story. That I touched her, spoiled her against her will.” He sighed, and in the silence of the night it sounded extraordinarily sad. “If anything, it was the other way around. Towards the final weeks, just before the fire, she… she started getting a lot rougher, ignoring what I wanted. Hurting me.”

Stiles’ hands clenched into fists, and he didn’t even realise until Derek moved his own hand, wrapping within Stiles’. He took a breath, then leaned close to Derek.

“That bitch will pay for what she did to you,” he promised, then looked at Cora and Isaac. “To _all_ of you. With her _life.”_

Derek stared at him for a moment, then smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

Stiles looked to the rest of the pack. “You guys are looking for a cure, right?”

“Yeah,” Isaac said, a regretful tone in his voice. “That’s what happened at the southern village. We heard wind of their chief knowing something about the tattoo, hoped maybe he’d be able to help us find a cure. We found the children first,” he said, exchanging looks with the others. “I think it was the first time in a while where someone hadn’t been scared as soon as they found out what we were.”

Stiles’ brows furrowed. “Then why were they found dead?”

Isaac looked pained, too pained to continue, and Malia took over. “One of them snitched,” she said with forced casualness, but Stiles could feel the emotion underneath. Anger and humiliation, regret and pain. “By the time we got to the village, the chief was already launching a full-scale attack on us and telling his people the gods were testing them.” She sent Stiles a dry look. “And if there’s anything that scares humans more than supernatural creatures, it’s their gods.”

“The kids tried to protect us.” Isaac’s voice was quiet, but it was so silent all around that it seemed to be amplified until it was the only thing Stiles could hear. “They were caught between their homes and who they knew were innocent. Those who weren’t killed by their own…” He looked up and flashed blue eyes. “We had to put them out before their injuries did.”

Erica drew an arm around Isaac, pulling him closer to her and Boyd. Boyd looked to Stiles and flashed his own blue eyes, then to Malia, who did the same. Erica and Derek were the only ones who didn’t have blue eyes, having gold and red respectively. It didn’t feel like much.

Stiles looked to the sky, and said, “well, _this_ is a very depressing full moon.”

Erica snorted, and this time it only looked half forced. “I bet it’s because of the clothes. Maybe if you let us go ‘free’, this wouldn’t be half as tragic.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out. “Ugh, for the last time, _you’re_ the weird ones! I’m perfectly normal!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Derek said, then seemed to realise he’d spoken and blanched.

It was too late, though, because Stiles grabbed his head pulled him into a headlock. “Wow, big guy, and here I was thinking we had something special!” Derek got out of it stupidly quick, smirking when Stiles pouted and crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, you have superhuman strength, so it doesn’t count.”

“Excuses!” Erica cried. She waved a hand at Derek. “Der, did I tell you my idea about training Stiles? Don’t you totally agree he’d benefit from _not dying?”_

Derek sent him a thoughtful look, but Stiles shook his head. “No, I’ve already told you that I don’t want Erica anywhere near me with stabby things.”

“Okay, but it doesn’t have to be with your knife! We could just train normal hand-to-hand?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I don’t think you know how to do _anything_ ‘normally’.” He then leaned towards Derek and pretended to whisper into his ear. “She’d also beat me into a bloody pulp, but that’s less important.”

The tension dissolved, and the pack started talking and joking around again. Derek was getting bombarded with questions left and right, and though Stiles knew that they meant well, he also saw the tired expression growing on Derek’s face as he answered more and more. Poor guy probably wasn’t used to this much communication as a wolf – no wonder he looked a bit stressed.

Making up his mind, Stiles cleared his throat and nudged Derek. “Hey, can I talk to you? Alone?”

Erica gasped dramatically. “Already keeping secrets from us, Stiles?”

“Yeah,” he joked, “we’re sneaking off to complain about you guys. No open invitation, sorry guys.”

“For more than one reason,” Cora said slyly, then smiled brightly when Stiles glared at her.

He ignored the rest of the pack’s smirks and grins, eyes only on Derek as he led him away from the fire. They walked in the dark for a few minutes, silent, until Stiles couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“So… this is kind of weird.”

Derek didn’t say anything, just sending him a look, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“You know, this feels exactly like when you’re a wolf. I mean, I never expected you’d be chatty, but come _on!”_

Derek quirked a brow at him. “What do you want me to say?”

“I – I don’t know. Hi, hello, nice to meet you, Stiles, I’m very glad I didn’t let you bleed out on the forest floor and decided to save your scrawny ass instead.”

Derek shrugged, then looked him up and down. “Your ass isn’t that bad,” he said, and continued walking.

Stiles’ mouth fell open and closed like he was a fish. He tripped over himself to run after Derek. “Okay, I see what you’re doing! You’re trying to shock me into silence so that I won’t speak to you. Yeah, ha ha, very clever. Except _not_ , because I’m smarter than that, Derek! You can’t distract me like that, Der – uh, Derek?”

Stiles looked around, blinking nervously.

“Derek, where’d you go, bud? Did you see a squirrel of something?”

At the furthered silence, he started to grow more and more worried. He inched back towards where they came from, keeping his steps light and quick, when suddenly something attacked from behind. He flinched, reaching for the first thing he could grab and throwing a rock at his attacker.

It was Derek, and the rock missed by miles. He blinked at where it landed, smirking at Stiles over his shoulder. “Looks like you missed this time.”

Stiles cocked his head, then remembered how he’d thrown a rock at him when they’d first ‘met’. “Oh, don’t tell me you also think I need training!”

Derek shrugged. “If you’re staying with us, then you’re going to have to learn how to defend yourself.”

Stiles paused and watched him. “I’m staying?”

Derek blinked and looked down. “I mean, I… assumed. You don’t have to, of course. We can take you back home, once you’re well enough, if you want us to.”

Stiles took a breath, then smiled. “Well, uh, I’ve actually been thinking about that. What happened in my village, that was. It was terrifying.” He closed his eyes, shivering, and when they opened Derek’s keen gaze was clued to him. “I keep replaying it, over and over again. Getting stabbed by someone that I’d known for years, that I thought I could trust. And all for nothing, too!”

Derek watched him carefully. “But you still want to go back.”

Stiles sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t like the feeling of my dad thinking I’m dead, of him mourning for me whilst I’m alive. I had friends in that village who I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye to. It feels wrong to leave it like that.

“But, at the same time, I’m _happy_ here. Your pack is fun and cool and I’m a lot more use here than I was at home.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “In my village, I wasn’t a hunter, or a medic. I was just kind of… floating around, useless. It’s not like that here.”

He looked at Derek. “It’s confusing. _I’m_ confused.”

Derek sent him a smile, but it looked a bit sad at the edges. “You don’t have to decide now, but the pack will always be happy to house you.”

Stiles stared at him for a bit, then smiled. “Thanks. That… that sounds good.”

When they returned to the camp, Erica wolf whistled. “Ahh, they’ve returned! And they’re still clothed!” She pouted. “ _Boo!”_

Derek’s fierce glare didn’t deter her, and she just stuck out her tongue at him. Sitting wrapped around her, Boyd rolled his eyes. “Leave them alone.”

Stiles nodded, relieved. “Thank you.”

“There’s no way Stiles is getting laid,” Boyd continued.

“Uh, I said thank you.”

“Besides,” Cora waved a hand, “Derek’s way out of Stiles’ league.”

“Okay, that’s a low blow!” Stiles scowled, throwing himself down on a stone and ignoring the butterflies in his stomach when Derek sat close enough that their arms brushed. “I’m, like, in _everyone’s_ league. I’m in the top league. Super high up on the league board, that’s me.”

Cora hummed, unconvinced, and Isaac whined. “Why are we talking about how bang-able Stiles is? This isn’t how I want to spend my full moon. Ever.”

The rest of the pack conceded, agreeing to come up with something more fun to do. They settled on small games designed for fun and laughter, which quickly dissolved into the most competitive thing Stiles had even seen – seriously, Malia was chasing Erica around the campfire and Isaac looked one second away from strangling Derek on the spot.

Stiles was inevitably dragged in and, of course, lost.

Typical.

When the moon started to set, Derek took his clothes off and stood in the wide space of the alcove. Stiles tried his hardest to keep his eye at chest level, watching in awe as the pack started howling up at the full moon.

Derek joined in for a single, mournful howl that seemed to last forever, before his body convulsed and cracked and he grew smaller and smaller until he shifted back into a wolf.

“Now that I actually know you can talk, you do realise I won’t be putting up with your passive aggressive silence, right?” Stiles grinned, scratching behind Derek’s ears. “No more silence, Mr Grumpy, now you have to answer my questions even if its with the flick of a tail.”

Derek huffed, licking Stiles’ cheek before barking for his pack to gather. They wrapped around Stiles, as they did each night, with Derek curled under Stiles’ neck and serving as his pillow.

Stiles sighed, settling into the feeling with a smile. He was really looking forward to the next full moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes:
> 
> • Hopefully that evens out for everyone who was angry at the pack for killing an entire village? They were more or less forced into it. Feel free to spill your thoughts in the comments.
> 
> • Couldn't really think of a way to bring the Triskelion into the Hale backstory but if canon gives me symbols, then I will use them! Hopefully that doesn't annoy anyone lol.
> 
> • Your (bi)weekly wolf fact: grey wolves weight 70-115 pounds, timbre wolves 70, and arctic wolves 75-125 if they're male. I averaged Derek's weight to ninety. Wolf fact over.
> 
> • I've been trying to rewrite a few chapters ahead so something like last week can't happen again, and two artists who have surprisingly been helpful were Tove Lo and Doja Cat. When I discovered "Equally Lost" I gained like 20 years on my life, that song is a gift. Anyways, just a tiny note saying that I won't be missing another week like last time. I mean, hopefully...
> 
> Thank you for reading and, if you can, please leave comments and kudos!


	7. I Can't Tell If She Has Green Skin Or Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last week's chapter:
> 
> Derek turned into a human under the full moon and shared his Tragic Backstory™. Stiles promised to help them break the curse before getting sucked into games and talk before they all fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, another ~spooooky~ chapter, by which I mean shit goes down. Some not nice stuff happens but it's mostly talk. I don't think any warnings are necessary, but do tell me if you think so.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy!

The day after the full moon, Stiles couldn’t keep his mind from racing.

Derek was a wolf again, which was… interesting. Stiles couldn’t help but constantly think about the Derek underneath the wolf, the human with bright eyes and rough stubble. It was strange to look at the animal leading the pack into new territory, or wiping blood from his face after the latest hunt, or even just sitting at his feet and realise that only a day ago he’d been a full human, capable of talking and crying and holding Stiles’ hand.

The thought made something in Stiles’ stomach twist.

They all woke up bleary and tired, having stayed up most of the night to be with Derek until he turned back to wolf. The pack finished off the elk they’d caught for last time and Derek lead the way from the alcove, walking for a few days before eventually stopping near a lake and taking the opportunity to wash themselves.

It seemed that Boyd’s strict rules paid off, because Stiles happily threw the walking stick away and got permission from Boyd to join the others in the water. Not that Stiles _needed_ the permission, it wasn’t like Boyd was scary or anything, but. You know.

Malia was lapping the pool as a coyote, nipping at Cora’s heels whenever she threw water onto her. Isaac was trying to convince Stiles that throwing stones with other people in the lake was a bad idea, and their alpha sat on the outskirts and napped.

Erica and Boyd had been called away to check the perimeter of the territory. Apparently the wolves had been smelling “something” in the air, which was neither very descriptive nor helpful, but apparently enough that Derek thought it important enough to send them off to scope out the place for any dangers.

Stiles secretly though it was just an excuse to give them some “private time” away from the pack, because those two had been getting quite obnoxiously flirty lately – well, Erica had been, and Boyd just suffered it with an amused air of someone who’d had to put up with this for years and had accepted their fate.

“Hey, look, seaweed,” Stiles said, long since convinced not to throw any stones. “I bet you could make scarves out of that.”

Isaac narrowed his eyes at him. “I feel like you’re making fun of me.”

“Me? Making fun? Of _you?_ For your weird obsession with scarves? Never, Isaac.”

Isaac nodded, comforted. “Good, because I already tried that once. Way too itchy and slimey, hard pass.”

Stiles tried to keep his laughter at bay. “You tried to make a scarf out of seaweed?”

“It was for a dare,” he said shrugging, then pointing behind them. “Derek still being a sourpuss?”

Stiles looked over his shoulder with a grin in time to see Derek open an eye and glare, indicating that he’d heard Isaac rather clearly. “More like a sour _wolf,”_ Stiles said, struck by his genius. He swam over to Derek and poked his paws. “What’s up, sourwolf? Too old to play with the young kids? Need time to rest your aching bones, sourwolf?”

Derek gave him a dry look.

“Technically you can’t speak, so you can’t deny it, which means you’re not saying no, which means I’m _right_.” He punched the air. “Hey guys, Derek’s too much of a grandpa to have fun now!”

“Is that supposed to be news?” Cora laughed, wrestling with Malia in the water. “Der is too paranoid about Erica and Boyd to relax.”

Stiles turned back to Derek and cooed. “Aww, is that it? You worried about your pack, so you want to be ready for any problems?” He cupped Derek’s face and shook him playfully. “They’ll be fine, dude. Cora’s right, you need to relax. You are just being a grumpy alpha.”

Derek bit at the air in front of his face and he jumped back.

“Alright, alright, point taken! Keep being a sourwolf, who even cares.” He swam back towards Isaac and declared, “I’m going to go hang out with my _cool_ friends. You know, who aren’t _boring_ and know how to have _fun_.”

Derek huffed loudly, and Stiles grinned.

Resigning himself to an evening without dragging Derek into the water, he turned back to the rest of the pack and joined their games, which looked suspiciously like lame excuses to try and drown each other.

He was highly engrossed in the most recent game when Erica and Boyd broke through the bushes, looking harried and waving frantically. Derek jumped up, running to them and nosing their bodies for any sign of injury.

Erica waved him off, taking a deep breath before saying, “we think we’ve found a witch’s lair.”

The pack froze.

In the split second before everything erupted into chaos, Derek found the time to give Stiles an _‘I-told-you-so’_ look.

Before Stiles knew it, everyone was out of the lake and rushing towards the pair. Malia had shifted to human and didn’t bother to cover up, but Stiles’ attention was fixated on Erica and Boyd who looked like they’d just run a marathon. The air was loud with questions and yells until Derek barked at them, ordering silence, and turned to Erica.

“Boyd and I were walking around to the north of here,” she said, pointing into the distance, “when we thought we smelled magic in the air. We followed—”

“Wait, there’s a magic _smell?”_ He blinked sheepishly when everyone frowned at him. “What? It’s a valid question.”

“Yes,” Boyd answered. “Spells and hexes give off a scent, but it’s often hard to track and pinpoint. Witches can purposefully complicate any trace they leave behind to prevent anyone from following them.”

Stiles nodded, thinking. “Did you guys find out where it came from?”

“We think,” Erica said. “We followed it down to a valley and saw a hut at the bottom, but we didn’t want to approach in case they’d think we were aggressive.”

The pack seemed to grow more relaxed at hearing they hadn’t stick around to find out if it really was a witch. Isaac cast a mournful look at the lake and asked, “do we have to leave now? I’m not scared of some tiny witch.”

“You’d do well not to underestimate witches,” Cora said carefully. “A witch might well have been who put the curse on Derek.”

As if hearing his name, Derek snapped out of his thoughts. He shook his head, then gestured at the lake and pushed the others towards it. Stiles took it to mean that they could stay, at least for now.

Derek called Erica and Boyd away to talk some more, and when they returned it was to say that Derek had offered to finish their patrol for them and double check it really was a witch. It seemed a lot less fun without Derek, because even if he hadn’t played with them he was there for Stiles to yell taunts at every five seconds, but he came back thirty minutes later with no injuries and in a good mood.

Stiles threw himself onto the shore near the wolf and said, “the witch not a threat, then?” Derek shook his head. “That’s good, at least. I think I’ve had enough fighting to last a lifetime.” Derek snorted, agreeing, and laid down to sleep. Before he could, though, Stiles nudged him. “Hey, I had an idea. If the witch isn’t out to get you guys, you could approach them for help!”

At the wolf’s curious look, he said, “maybe you could ask for something to help find the cure to the curse. A way to undo it, or the location of the caster.” Derek looked thoughtful, but not fully convinced, so Stiles shrugged. “Just a thought. I promised to help you, and this looks like an opportunity to do just that. You don’t have to, obviously, it was just a suggestion—”

He was stopped in his rambling by Derek bopping their noses together.

Stiles blinked. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

Derek snorted, stretching before dipping his toes in the water. Stiles narrowed his eyes, wondering if he had enough strength to push Derek into the lake, but it was like the wolf was reading his thoughts because he turned around and growled at him.

Stiles held his hands up. Alright, point taken. I won’t, I won’t, relax.”

That night, when they all went to bed, Stiles scrunched his nose up and complained, “smells like wet dog.” A tail cuffed the back of his head. “Message received.”

In the morning, Stiles found himself waking up without Derek. The sun was in early rising and the rest of the pack were sound asleep nearby, but he still panicked and looked around frantically before seeing Derek huddled some way away with his sister.

He watched them talk – or watched _Cora_ talk, Derek just grunting and growling in response – until they noticed he was awake. “Hey,” he rasped, and Derek trotted over to him so Stiles could throw an arm over his back. “What are you guys doing up so early?”

Cora came to sit on his other side. “Derek and I were talking about visiting the witch.”

Stiles grinned, still dazed with sleep enough that only half his face completed the action. “Finally decided to listen to my genius, huh?”

Cora gave him an unimpressed look. “You have drool on your chin.” As Stiles squawked over it, she carried on. “It’s the first lead we’ve had in a while, and. Well. You know how the last one went. Derek still wants to ask the pack, though.”

Stiles patted Derek’s neck. “D’aaw, what a caring alpha. Isn’t he just the dreamiest, Cora?”

Cora stood to leave. “I have no idea what either of you see in each other.”

If she said anything else, Stiles was too asleep to hear. He fell back into inky blackness soon enough, vaguely aware of Derek walking around and doing whatever alphas did at way too early in the morning. By the time he properly woke up, everyone else was up and running.

Cora and Derek briefed everyone whilst Stiles was chewing down on some berries. They were to approach the witch carefully, ready to back off at the first sign of danger, and remain constantly aware even as they asked the witch their questions. Derek was going, naturally, but didn’t feel safe taking the whole pack with him. Instead, he decided to take Boyd, trusting his level-headedness o guide them in case anything went awry, and Stiles, because apparently making a trap for more than one species would slow the witch down and give them a few more seconds to get away.

“Wait, hold on,” Stiles said, frowning. “So you’re just using me as a human meat shield?”

Derek nodded point-blank.

Stiles blinked. “Well, at least you’re honest about it.”

The trio set off to a chorus of goodbyes, travelling uphill for long enough that Stiles was shocked his lungs didn’t fall out of his body. Derek and Boyd were kind enough to only stare at him judgmentally half the time, not bothering to slow down until they reached their destination.

Even from a distance, Stiles could tell something was different about this house.

Everything around the hut was abnormally green, vines growing in places they shouldn’t be and flowers sprouting every few steps as if they couldn’t resist growing so close to the source of magic. The hut itself was old, rotten wooden walls caked with bugs and ivy and decorated with a myriad of cracks. It looked uneven, as if any day now it would collapse, and Stiles imagined he’d be looking over his shoulder every second he was in there.

Hung from the patio awning, windows, and fences were countless wind chimes. Their pitches were all different but played together nonetheless, the noise completely draining out anything else from the forest and creating an eerie atmosphere.

Next to the wind chimes were crystals and feathers on strings, all vibrantly coloured and glittering in the sun. Stiles watching in fascination as birds flew by and dropped stones on the window ledge as an offering, others even picking old feathers to place them down. Whenever a squirrel passed it stopped by drop a nut or rock, and he even spied one or two spiders dipping by to leave their food at the hut.

He exchanged a glance with Derek and Boyd, biting at his nails for a moment before shaking himself out of it and stepping forward. Derek quickly cut him off, glaring and pushing him back as he stepped forward to lead the way.

The inside wasn’t too different, minus the massive ancient symbols painted on the hut’s walls, the paint a suspicious red that Stiles didn’t want to think about. If Stiles stared at them long enough his head started to get dizzy and he studiously ignored them, glad to see the others doing the same.

There was a distinct lack of furniture, of anything that would have made it felt like a house or a home. Cobwebs housed countless insects in the corners of the room, and as Stiles almost tripped over a beetle racing across the floor, he reminded himself not to touch anything, lest he get bitten and die.

He walked the perimeter of the room until he stopped by a broken window. Walking carefully around the fragments of glass on the floor, he peered outside to find wind chimes acting as curtains, swaying gently as they blocked the outside world. Stiles took about step forward, hands reaching out to touch, when—

“ _Aaaah!”_

The wooden panel under his leg broke, causing him to fall and trip. As he collapsed, he cried out in pain, feeling his foot getting stuck behind something and hearing the others run to his aid.

“Can you move it?” Boyd asked, and Stiles tried with a grimace.

“Yeah, a bit. Maybe we can, like, dig it out or something?”

Derek sniffed him over before moving to pull and push at the plans around Stiles’ foot, motions careful when he was close to the boy, until they had enough room to drag it out. Stiles hissed, rubbing at the tender skin as Boyd huddled him away from the broken glass, making sure none got into his skin, and Stiles prayed he didn’t get any splinters because those guys _sucked_.

He’d just begun to lean forward, pretty sure he’d seen _something_ crawling under the boards, when a voice echoed from behind him.

“That was impressive.”

They all jumped, Stiles spinning around so fast he almost fell to the ground. Standing before them was a woman who’d appeared out of nowhere, materialising behind them with no noise and no warning. She had… uh. She had long, dark… she…

Stiles blinked shaking his head.

Focusing on the woman _hurt_.

He tried to look at her again, to keep his eyes up for longer than a second, but soon enough his vision would become hazy and his head ached. It still happened no matter how many times he looked away or blinked, each time coming back to a vague, indistinguishable figure. Even the memory of her voice was fading fast, Stiles only remembering the spoken words and nothing more.

He looked to the side to see Derek and Boyd also shaking their heads, staring ahead grimly, and gritted his teeth.

“Now why is it,” the woman’s voice echoed, and Stiles had to look down to avoid his head exploding, “that there are three trespassers in my home?” She growled when they stayed quiet. “Answer me!”

“Well, you know, we would if our brains weren’t currently getting _fried_ by whatever the hell you’re doing right now,” Stiles groaned. “Can you, like, chill?”

The woman scoffed, and faster than Stiles could blink the headache stopped. Well, it didn’t stop entirely, but it became a background buzzing sensation instead of a literal threat to his sanity. He blinked owlishly, waiting a moment before risking looking up.

He still couldn’t see the woman, her figure fuzzy and blurry, but it was no longer killing him to look at her.

“There,” she said. “Now answer my question.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Wow, I can really feel the charm—”

“We came,” Boyd said loudly, glaring at Stiles, “for help.”

“Help?” The witch hummed. “Oh, this’ll be good.”

“We’re looking for something,” Boyd said. “We’re trying to break a curse.”

“A curse?” She asked, walking through the room slowly. “Well, that _sounds_ interesting. At least it’ll give me some entertainment, if nothing else.”

Stiles scoffed. “Yeah, we’re not telling you anything until we’re sure you’re not going to screw with us.”

“Now why would I ever do that?” Her footsteps echoed across the walls seamlessly enough that Stiles was startled when he felt breath on his neck, jumping away from it only to feel a hand land on his shoulder.

At his side he could hear Derek growl, and the witch tutted. “Oh, tell your mutt to calm down, would you? I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m certainly not an _idiot_.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, close enough to his neck to make him anxious, but her touch was light and controlled, as if she’d never hurt him. “Now. The curse?”

Boyd sent Stiles a look and the boy sighed. “What’s your name?” he asked first.

“Sorry, I’m not into pasty teenagers.”

Stiles laughed roughly, offering her a saccharine smile. “Just so I have something else to call you in my head, other than ‘bloodthirsty bitch’.”

The witch tapped the side of his neck gently. “If I recall correctly, you came here for _my_ help, hmm? Is it really such a good idea to be calling me a bitch, little boy?”

Stiles huffed, conceding that it was probably a bad idea to piss off the woman who was so very close to breaking his neck, and mutter, “not even that little.”

“I’ve had many names over the years,” she continued. “Jennifer. Blake. Julia. Baccari was a favourite of mine. _You_ can call me the The Darach.”

Stiles felt the need to roll his eyes – really, was this a mystery novel or something? – but Boyd spoke before he could. “We need to undo a curse.”

“And what can you tell me about this curse?”

“It’s on the wolf,” Boyd said, gesturing to where Derek was squinting at the air behind Stiles mistrustfully, probably trying to get past The Darach’s weird fog-powers. “He’s stuck in his alpha shift, for all days but one.”

“The full moon?” Boyd nodded and she sighed. “How cliché. I was hoping for something a bit more original.”

“I’m sorry our lives aren’t _entertaining_ enough for you,” Stiles growled. “But if we could get this moving, it’d be great.”

The Darach scoffed as if being inconvenienced, but Stiles could feel her walking around him, pace calm and measured, as if she didn’t have a care in the world right now. “This curse – who cast it?”

“We don’t know,” Boyd said. “His face was covered and, surprisingly, he didn’t exactly stop by to drop his name.”

Stiles smirked even as the witch groaned. “Well, that’s a lot of help.”

“He had a tattoo,” Stiles offered. “On his neck, a triskelion.”

It happened so fast, he didn’t even realise it at first.

One second, the woman was behind him with her hands at his neck, touch relaxed and casual, and the next she was on the other side of the room, crouched in front of Derek and holding his face between her hands. He kept trying to break away and growling loudly, but it was as if she’d frozen him somehow, leaving him unable to move further than to blink or twitch.

“A triskelion,” she said urgently. “Where was it? Where was this tattoo?” She stared at Derek, then let out a breath. “On his neck. Of course.” The Darach then smiled sweetly and patted Derek’s head like he was a puppy. “Oh, thank you for that, mutt. That _is_ good news. Maybe when this is all over, I’ll even give you a personal thank you, Derek.”

Stiles froze. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Boyd’s wide-eyed stare fixed to the woman.

“How do you know his name?” Stiles asked, and when she met his eyes his head ached so hard he dropped it to his knees.

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet, Stiles.” Her footsteps were loud as she walked to him. “After all, your father was a chief, wasn’t he?”

Stiles gritted his teeth. “How do you know _that?_ ”

“You think very loudly. You all do.”

“You already knew everything?” Stiles shook his head. “What was the point in making us say it, then?!”

“I didn’t know _everything_ ,” she said. “I simply heard your thoughts. And you were already thinking about the curse when you came in, but I needed to know more. I needed to know anything you might slip without realising.” She turned to Derek. “And now you have. Thank you, Derek – this story just suddenly got a lot more interesting, with _him_ in the mix.

“Not that it was boring before.” The witch walked behind Stiles. “Good characters, at least. Eager to help your friend and save the day – it’s quite cute, you know, if a little overconfident.” Her hand brushed through Stiles’ hair. “After all, you haven’t exactly had the best track record of saving lives, have you, Stiles?”

Stiles closed his eyes.

“Fortunately for you, this time there’s no herbs for you to find, no medicine for you to bring. And sure,” she said, leaning close to his face, “your dad _said_ it wasn’t your fault that your mom died, but we both know the truth. We both know that if you hadn’t been whining, if you hadn’t been complaining about being sent to fetch herbs, if you hadn’t been so _selfish_ and _irresponsible_ and _slow_ , maybe you would have gotten enough herbs to save her.

“But you didn’t.” A hand curled around a strand of hair, tugging almost playfully. “No, no, no, _you_ wanted to play with your friends. _You_ wanted to talk to Scott all day instead of spending hours outside and walking. _You_ decided she wasn’t important. And she died. But maybe it for the best, huh?” She sighed. “Claudia was kind of a bitch anyway.”

Stiles jumped. He moved, he struck out, he did _anything_ and everything he could, because _nobody_ talked about his mother like that, _nobody_ got to act like they knew her.

He didn’t hit anything, though. Within a second The Darach was gone, thin air at his fingertips, and Stiles wondered where she’d gone to until he heard Derek growl.

“Aww, the dog’s feeling protective.” The witch gave a breathy giggle, and Stiles’ stomach clenched at the thought of what she could be doing to the wolf. He couldn’t turn his head to look, though – something wouldn’t let him, it wouldn’t move, and the sick feeling continued to grow.

“A little too late, though, I’m afraid. What a shame his family didn’t get the same courtesy. It’s good that Derek’s making it up now, at least. I’m sure your family are _very_ proud of you in the afterlife.” Then she laughed. “Well, if they got there. After all, they didn’t even get a funeral! Just left there, bodies burnt, lying in the middle of the village to gather up dust. Couldn’t waste any times actually burying, them, could you?

“Of course, who could care about the people that raised him when faced with big tits and a small waist, eh, Derek?” There was the sound of a vicious growl, a scuffle, and then the witch was amused tutting. “That’s not how we treat hosts, is it, Derek? Didn’t your grandma teach you better than that? Or do you no longer care about them?”

Her voice grew quieter, then, but not silent. It seemed that her next words were for Derek and Derek alone, and Stiles wouldn’t stand that. He tried to turn his head, finding that, with the witch distracted, he could lean back far enough until his hand brushed against something.

He picked it up and hid his hand behind him, looking up to see Boyd give him a significant look. Stiles brought a finger to his lips and Boyd nodded, turning to Derek and the witch.

“Keep away from him,” Boyd warned. “He hasn’t done anything to you.”

The Darach’s head snapped up, and she stalked towards Boyd like a lion towards a small rat.

“Oh, that’s right, you’re his second.” She sighed and stroked a hand down Boyd’s face. “You know, I really have to say that you’re brave, Boyd. Truly. If I were you, I don’t think I’d be able to take on such responsibility again, not after _last_ _time.”_

Boyd’s face twitched, then went blank. Stiles watched silently as he tried to adjust his hands and make sure he was holding it in the right position.

“Because last time?” The Darach whistled as she walked around Boyd. “Gods, that wasn’t a fun time. Not for you, not for your parents, and definitely not for Alicia.” Boyd flinched at the name. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hit a soft spot? Kind of like Alicia did, didn’t she? Not your fault it happened, of course – it wasn’t like you were her big brother, or like your parents left you in charge. You were completely innocent in that. Though, I do have to say it’s getting a bit old now. You’re _still_ grieving your sister? If I were you, I’d accept that I killed her and move on. Like a normal human.

“But you’re not one of those anymore, are you? What a shame. The only thing you had in common, traded away for some flashy eyes and a pretty girl. Seems fitting for you, though. For a murderer.”

“That seems a little hypocritical,” Stiles said, grabbing her attention.

“Oh? And what makes you think I’ve killed someone before?”

“I hardly doubt that’s red paint on the walls,” Stiles nodded to them, and The Darach hummed. “So, like I said: hypocritical. If anyone here is a cold-blooded killer, it’s you.”

She laughed dryly, stepping forward. “ _I_ kill when I have to. _I_ obey fate, unlike other people, so _don’t_ say that.”

Stiles frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, come on, Stiles. Do you really think it was a coincidence your village druid stopped at Jackson?” Stiles froze and she snorted. “You’d think I’d be surprised it took you so long to find out, but you’re not as bright as you like to think.”

Stiles gritted his teeth, shaking his head to focus. “You know about our druid?”

She snorted. “Deaton’s not been very popular in our circles after what he did. That was a real risky move of his, and he won’t be able to fly under the radar for much more. I once tried to defy fate, and I got punished _very_ quickly for that. I’ve been waiting for him to get a piece of his own medicine for a while now. Say hello to him when you see him, will you?” she said to Stiles, and the boy frowned.

“I’m not going to see him again.”

“Of course not. Can’t say the same for Derek and his dear friend, though.” Stiles thought she smiled as she turned to Derek, patting his scruff. “The poor guy just made a big mistake. People tend to do that when they’re nervous. Well, _stupid_ people.” Then she turned as if to leave the room.

“Wait!” Stiles cried. “You can’t just leave without telling us how to break the curse! We had a deal!”

“I didn’t make any deal.” The Darach looked over her shoulder, huffing. “But, _fine_ , if you want to know so bad, yes, it’ll break.”

“Tell us how, then!”

“Oh, no. It’s a lot more fun not to tell you.”

“Fun?! You’re not going to help us because it’s not _fun?!”_

The Darach walked back and stroked his jaw. “Lower your voice, Stiles. You wouldn’t want me to hurt you, would you? You seem to forget that I’m the one with the power here.”

Stiles clenched his jaw. “Not really,” he whispered, and threw the shard of glass in his hand straight at her.

As the witch fell backwards, chaos erupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes:
> 
> • Pretty much all of these "flash backs" are unreliable because they're based on the gang's thoughts, which would obviously be clouded by grief and self-blame. Stiles didn't actually cause his mother's death, Derek didn't actually care about Kate more than his family, and Boyd wasn't responsible for his sister's demise.
> 
> • Speaking of Boyd's sister - she is an actual character, but she was only mentioned in one episode so I get if anyone forgets. In that creepy hotel episode in season 3 Boyd gets a vision of his little sister who keeps saying "you left me" and all that, and it's clear Boyd blames himself for Alicia's death. I figured I could twist it for my own purposes here since she wasn't really utilised in the show.
> 
> • Originally this chapter didn't end at the fight - there wasn't even going to be a fight, it was just gonna be The Darach ditching and leaving them all confused and stuff. Thought I'd spice it up a bit then realised I had to cut it here, whoops, but luckily I'll just put it at the start of the next chapter because it turns out that one was more or less dead anyway.
> 
> • Speaking of rewriting, this chapter is by far the most changed from the first draft. I'm actually going through a crisis right now because I can't write future chapters until I solve a massive problem in chapter 10, but also have to keep writing the next chapters so they can be uploaded in time. I make it sound like a massive problem and that I'm suffering, but in reality I have plenty of time to do all of this and just decide to lounge around all day. Yesterday, instead of working, I watched The Mummy movies for the first time, so.... Time well spent?
> 
> • Jen makes an appearance! She sucks and I hate her. First time I saw her on screen, I was immediately like "she's too nice for Derek, get her out of here" and was very glad when she turned out to be evil. Derek deserves badasses and no-nonsense-takers like Braeden and Stiles, thank you very much. The whole "can't see her features" is a spin on how she uses a disguise to hide her real face (the chapter title is a reference to this, and how the stereotypical image of witches is green skin, big noses, boils everywhere etc) and the fact that Stiles uses glass to attack her is reminiscent of how she skills Kali, which you'll see more next chapter... (not Kali, just to make it clear, but the glass)
> 
> I've been unable to look back and fix any grammar/spelling mistakes recently because I'm busy (read: procrastinating) so if you spot any don't hesitate to point them out. As always, comments and kudos are highly appreciated!


	8. School is in Session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter's summary:
> 
> After Boyd and Erica come back to the pack with news of a witch's hut nearby, Derek takes Boyd and Stiles with him to check it out. After being given vague answers to their questions, lots of threats, and a _serious_ invasion of privacy, Stiles decides he has enough and throws a piece of glass at the witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, last week: wow this sure is fun sitting at home doing nothing but eating  
> Me, realising it was a Thursday and I'd forgotten to update: oh fuck
> 
> So, uh... sorry? In my defence school has been kicking my ass and I've had a lot of work to do, which is ridiculous because it's summer now!! I shouldn't even be in school!! Stop setting me work, teachers! Anyways, uh, have fun with this chapter. :)
> 
> (For warnings: pretty standard violence, so if you've been okay so far you should do just fine.)

It hit her eye.

Stiles had scrambled for the piece of glass, had held it so hard in his hand that it cut into his palm, but he hadn’t actually thought he’d throw it successfully.

But he had. It had flown through the air and sent her falling backwards, cradling her head with a cry so loud and enraged that the hut started to shake. The floorboards creaked and the wind chimes sung, everything moving and vibrating until the only thing standing still was The Darach herself.

She lay in the middle of the room holding her head in her hands, unmoved by the wildness around her. She took her time in looking up, in standing and straightening and moving until she was towering over them.

_“You.”_

Something moved in the corner of Stiles’ eyes and he snapped his head to see the shards from the broken window rising into the air. Looking to The Darach, he saw her lift her hands along with them, eyes closed and almost as if in her own world.

Everything was quiet for a moment. Then, without warning, all the shards flew right at Stiles.

He ducked, but he wasn’t fast enough. The glass was too quick, to sharp, and he could feel as it soared only inches above him, as another piece flew straight towards his face and—

Something knocked into Stiles and pushed him to the ground. He hissed as he did so, worrying over his sore hands and knees for a moment before he jolted and looked behind him.

Derek was laying where he had been, sprawled across the ground with glass sticking out of his side. He painstakingly removed each piece, using his teeth to move them even as he cried and flinched, and didn’t notice the large shadow looming over him until—

The witch fell forward, and behind her Boyd growled, his claws covered in blood. She let out a roar of anger and raised the glass again, seemingly ready to launch it at Boyd, but before she could Derek got up, moving as fast as he could to jump at the witch and claw her face.

Or, he _would_ have if it weren’t for the force of energy that sent them all back.

Boyd flew across the room and Stiles felt his own back hit the hut’s walls hard. He cried out but could feel no broken bones, and looked up frantically to see Derek lying only a few inches away from the still-raised wall of glass, unhurt.

He let out a relieved breath and crawled forward and the noise of a scuffle carried on behind him. As Stiles reached Derek, he winced – there were still a few shards of glass embedded in his fur, covered in a sticky, runny blood, and the boy hesitated only a moment before reaching forward to tug them out. He tried to do it quickly, ignoring Derek’s pitiful whimpers, but it still seemed to be enough to catch The Darach’s attention. She spun around wildly and scowled when she saw Stiles and Derek.

For the first time since they’d entered the hut, the witch’s disguise seemed to fall for a second. The blurriness faded and her features cleared, and no matter whatever curiosity Stiles had previously had, he wished he’d never seen what was underneath the disguise.

Skin. Scarred, burned, warped so beyond belief that she didn’t even look _human_. She didn’t even look like an animal, but some kind of monster that Stiles’ imagination would never have been able to conjure up on his own. Skin covered in scars that seemed as fresh as ever, but couldn’t possibly be because they weren’t _bleeding_ , they were just stretched from inch to inch on her face.

The skin near her mouth seemed to be rotted away, revealing purple gums and yellow, uneven teeth. Half of them looked broken and torn, but the other half looked like they belong in a lion’s jaw, sharp and clean and so, _so_ ready to bite into Stiles’ neck and drain the life out of him.

The sight froze Stiles.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink. He seemed unable to do anything but stare in horror.

A shout of, _“Stiles, run!”_ broke through the air and the spell broke. Stiles came back just in time to see the witch aiming some kind of… some kind of _beam_ at him, dark and red and throbbing, giving Stiles a headache just by looking at it.

He ducked out of the way just in time to it touch the wood of the hut and turn it into a burning pile of ash. Stiles paled as he got up to run, Boyd right behind him, then stopped. “Wait, what about Derek?!”

Boyd growled in frustration, pushing Stiles towards the entrance. “You, get out of here, I’ll deal with her and get Derek back!” With that he left, and Stiles made his way to the hut’s door.

He went to open it, but he didn’t.

The thought of leaving behind Boyd to fend for himself, of leaving behind _Derek_ on the ground, helpless, of possibly never seeing or touching him again, made him stop.

It made him let go of the doorknob, turn away from the door, and back into the room.

Stiles took a breath, then opened his eyes.

Boyd was caught up in a fight with The Darach, each of his hits getting weaker and weaker, each time he ducked to avoid the witch’s blasts of magic getting slower. Behind them, though, was what caught Stiles’ attention.

Derek was floating in the middle of the air, caught up in a bright, ethereal glow, his body contorted and twisted into something that a wolf shouldn’t have been able to get into. As the witch fought Boyd, one hand seemed to be pointed at Derek as if keeping the magic activated.

Stiles waited, then stilled his resolve.

He waited for the next time Boyd dodged an attack. This time he fell to the ground, unable to get up, and The Darach’s face lit up with delight. She raised her hand, the power quickly building in her palm in a spectacular show of light, and Stiles _moved_.

He raced forward and, before she could react, pushed her forward.

Pushed her far enough until she fell directly behind her, where the tall wall of glass shards, forgotten in the midst of her fight with Boyd, laid.

Stiles didn’t look as she died. He didn’t want to see it, to know what happened.

He still heard it, though.

No word could sum up the way it twisted his stomach, made him gag, made him feel sicker than anything he’d ever felt before.

But he ignored it and ran forward to Boyd. He checked the man over quickly, making sure he was okay, before running to Derek. Derek had been dropped as soon as the witch fell into the glass, but even as he hit the hard floor, he didn’t make a sound.

As Stiles approached, he realised why: Derek was asleep.

He wasn’t dead, that much Stiles could tell. He was still moving and flinching, making little noises in the back of his throat, but his eyes wouldn’t open, and he didn’t seem to be reacting to Stiles’ presence. Instead he just winced as Stiles tried to pick him up, as Boyd helped and they ran out of the hut.

Stiles couldn’t tell how long they’d run for. The sky was bright when they entered the hut, but now it looked like night was approaching, and the call of the birds had quietened significantly.

They ran for a while, dragging a comatose Derek between them who only got worse by the second.

Eventually Boyd seemed to think they were far away enough from the hut and, after a careful look around the forest, he lay Derek down. Stiles quickly leapt to hold Derek, putting his head on his lap and bending over him.

“Is he going to be okay?” He asked frantically. “Is he going to die? What did she _do_ to him?”

“I don’t know,” Boyd said as he checked Derek’s body. “He’s alive. For now, at least. Alive but asleep.”

Stiles scowled. “Gods, what was _wrong_ with her?! We only came for help and she tried to kill us!”

Boyd stayed silent, taking a long look at Stiles. “Thank you, for what you did. If you didn’t—”

“ _Can we please not—”_ Stiles stopped. He took a breath. “Can we please not talk about that?”

Boyd waited a moment, then nodded. He looked around. “I can’t tell where we are, we ran a different way from where we came. But if we move around a bit I’ll be able to catch some scents.”

“Well, we can’t exactly move around much,” Stiles said, brushing his hand through Derek’s fur. “Derek’s too heavy to carry him for that long.”

Boyd sighed. “Stay here,” he said, then got up to leave.

Stiles balked. “Stay here?! Why am I staying here Boyd, why are you leaving me?!”

“I’m going to get the pack,” Boyd said, frustration evident in his voice. “Stay here with Derek in case the witch comes back.”

“Oh, yes, that’s a great idea, leaving the magicless _human_ in charge of protecting the alpha werewolf! Brilliant strategy, Boyd, real good thinking!”

Boyd just glared, sending Derek one last worried look before he turned back into the forest. Stiles stared at the empty space for a few more moments when a whimper caught his attention.

Stiles looked down and hissed. Derek’s fur was caked with blood and dust, clean, thin cuts all along his torso, but it didn’t look to be the source of his pain – instead he was thrashing and tossing, scrambling uselessly at the air as if trying to get away from something, and Stiles wondered what kind of foul magic The Darach had worked on him.

“Ohhhh boy,” Stiles breathed. “Derek, if you die on me, I will kill you. Seriously, I’m gonna be _so_ pissed you won’t even believe it, because I did not get this far only for some weird hippy lady to take me out!”

He ran his hands through Derek’s fur, wincing whenever he brushed a finger along the cut and made Derek growl.

“Shouldn’t you be healing? I feel like you should be healing. Please heal, Derek! Where’s all that werewolf mojo when you need it, huh? Typical?” He laughed nervously, trying to relax the wolf with a scratch behind his ears. It seemed to help a little, so Stiles continued. “You guys really weren’t kidding about all this supernatural stuff. Maybe you should consider taking a vacation, you know, relax on a beach or something instead of getting hunted every five seconds—”

A distressed bark broke through the air and Stiles bent over quickly, barely missing Derek’s paws as they flew out to hit the air, movements fast and panicked.

“Hey, _Derek, Derek, Derek_ ,” Stiles whispered. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

It seemed like the more he tried to get Derek to stop, the worse it got. So Stiles tried something else – instead of hugging Derek until he could move, or grabbing his paws and keeping him still, he started murmuring into his ear. Scratching behind his ear, massaging his paws, saying his name over and over again until it overlapped even the loudest of the whines.

Slowly but surely, Derek started to slow down. His eyes, under his eyelids, didn’t move as much, and his body grew sluggish until he was all but asleep.

Stiles sat back and propped himself up against a tree, all but hugging the wolf to his chest. He startled at any sound even if it was the rustle of the wind, jumping up and tucking Derek behind him, as if he could do _anything_ to protect him.

He’d gotten lucky, he decided. The rock could have missed the witch entirely. They could have not escaped, they could have gotten hurt worse, they could have never seen their friends again.

But they got lucky.

Stiles hoped, as he held Derek close, that they’d get lucky again.

Derek slept for a full three days.

After the pack came to get them, they’d hovered over him for hours. Stiles couldn’t really blame them, unable to go a second without Derek in his sights, but all the crowding meant _he_ couldn’t be around Derek as much and it made him cranky.

He wasn’t the only one, apparently.

Stiles hadn’t seen neither hair nor hide of Boyd since they’d brought Derek back. Erica kept disappearing into the woods, bringing wood with her and returning with a frown that kept getting more and more severe each time, but she didn’t anything.

Stiles got it. If he had the option, he’d also probably be hiding away from everybody, trapped with his thoughts and himself.

But whenever the thought crossed his mind Derek would jerk in his sleep, or let out another heart-breaking whimper, and Stiles just _couldn’t._

He couldn’t. He didn’t _want to_ , he wanted to stay here, and he wanted to watch over Derek.

So he waited.

On the morning of the fourth day, Stiles could barely stand upright, only getting a handful of sleep the past few days, and he almost missed Derek being awake. But then a cold nose poked at his fingers, and he sprung right up.

“Derek!” Stiles cried.

Derek looked happy to see him, trying to sit up and go over to him, but squawked loudly when Stiles hugged him. He ignored Derek’s vaguely offended huffs, holding him for a moment before moving back to pull at his ears.

“Idiot, what the hell was that about?!” Derek sent him a betrayed look, but he was unimpressed. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I _hurt_ you? Well, what a horrible tragedy! Thank god I only pulled your ear and, you know, didn’t make you jump at the witch or anything crazy. Oh, _wait_ , that was _you!”_

Derek huffed and looked away.

“No, Derek, you can’t be like that! I’m glad you’re fine and well but risking your life like that was out of the question! I mean, what if you’d _died?”_

His voice broke at the end, and that seemed to catch Derek’s attention. His stubborn face morphed into worry, and he pushed his head into Stiles’ chest until the boy was cradling him close.

“ _Gods_ , Derek,” Stiles said as he tried not to cry. “Look, I – I know you did it to protect us, okay, I _get_ it, but you gotta be careful! Boyd said that you tried to go after her again, that that was why she put you to sleep. And I know I wasn’t there, that it was probably necessary, but you were already so hurt when I left, and when I came back and saw you not moving…”

He sighed, pulling back to press their foreheads together. “Please don’t do that again.”

Derek nodded, whining until he could get far back enough to lick Stiles’ face. He didn’t stop until Stiles was squirming away, trying not to laugh as the touch tickled but failing until he was collapsed on his back with a heavy werewolf on his chest.

“Alright, fine, you’re forgiven!” Stiles said in between bouts of laughter. “Just don’t tell anyone I’m ticklish and we’re good.”

Derek didn’t reply, instead pushing his head into Stiles’ chest repeatedly and sniffing him.

When he realised what he wanted, Stiles rolled his eyes. “You’re worried about me, seriously? You do realise you were just in a mini-coma because of magic, right?” As Derek continued to whine anxiously, he sighed. “I’m fine. Just. You know. Spooked, generally, but fine.”

Derek nodded, then pointed his snout out of the cave they were staying in.

“Everyone else is fine,” Stiles said. “Boyd is… well.” At the wolf’s alarmed look, he hurried to explain, “he’s fine – physically, I mean. He’s alive and unharmed, unlike _you_.” His glare went ignored. “I just think the stuff The Darach said messed him up. It messed me up too, honestly.”

He scratched at his arm, wind wandering, only to be brought back by a lick to his cheek. He smiled.

“Don’t worry about me, worry about yourself. Cora said you were fine, that whatever magic it was had worn off, but we still don’t know what she actually cast. What was it?”

Derek avoided his eyes, instead shuffling his paws with a look that clearly said he didn’t want to talk about it.

Stiles sighed. “Fine. But I’m totally bullying you into talking about it next full moon.”

Derek’s recovery was met with much fanfare, the pack buzzing loudly and even declaring a large hunt in honour of their fearless leader. Erica and Boyd were suspiciously absent but no-one really mentioned it, all under some kind of spell, conscious or not, to let them be able for as long as they wanted.

Derek kept disappearing into the forest, though, and a few days later Boyd finally braved the rest of the pack. He looked tired and sombre, his normal blank façade filled with cracks that made the pack flutter around him with kind words and anxious whines.

Erica fenced them off fairly well, Derek letting the others know to give Boyd some space, and so it was only about a week later that Stiles finally got a minute alone with Boyd.

They were all sitting around the firepit, talking quietly amongst themselves – all but Boyd, who’d shuffled to the side and said nothing all evening. He just stared into the fire blankly as if reliving some memory only he could see, utterly still apart from the constant bouncing of his foot.

As Stiles sat next to him, he thought about what so say to Boyd. What the witch had said – that shit was _personal_ , and clearly something that Boyd didn’t want anyone else knowing. Stiles got that, and, more importantly, got what it was like to blame yourself for someone’s death.

Stiles’ mother was a beautiful, kind woman that the universe had taken too early. Her sickness came suddenly and without warning, and no amount of prayers or medicine would have been enough to bring her back.

Stiles knew that now. Back _then_ , though, when he was a child, all he could think about was that it was his fault. It was his fault he didn’t bring enough herbs. It was his fault for bothering his ill mother so much. It was his fault for pushing it to the back of his mind, for ignoring it, for pretending everything would be okay until her death was literally staring him in the face.

And Stiles knew Boyd. The guy was grumpy, yes, and stoic and preferred quiet to talk. But he was kind and caring. There was no way he’d be able to actually kill anyone he loved, let alone his sister.

Normally, Stiles would have started rambling until the person got distracted from their thoughts and told him to shut up. He didn’t think that would work with Boyd, though. The man was too quiet.

So instead of saying everything that was on his mind, he just asked, “what was she like?”

Boyd tensed momentarily, then let out a breath. “Young,” he said, like the word haunted him, then, “pretty. She used to make me spend hours braiding her hair, said I did it wrong and made me do it again. Would never let anyone else do it, though.” Something almost like a smile graced his face. “That was always my job.”

Stiles hummed, then hesitated. “…when my mom was sick, she used to have these… fits. Would forget where she was, who we were. One time she panicked so much he ripped out massive fistfuls of her hair and they had to cut the rest of it to make it match.” He sighed. “She hated it, thought she looked awful. She’d look at the other girls’ hair in the village and get really sad. So, one day, I got my dad to cut my hair to the same length as hers.”

He ran his hand along his head, where his brown tips had started to curl under his ears. “It was horrible – super itchy and uneven, but her face when she saw me made it all worth it.” He looked to Boyd. “I know it’s not really the same, but—”

“Thanks,” Boyd said, and after a while, Stiles nodded.

“Yeah. No problem.”

And that was that.

Stiles managed to catch Erica alone soon enough, filling a waterskin with water from the lake, and didn’t wait to speak.

“I want you to teach me to fight.”

Erica opened her mouth, then closed it. “I thought you didn’t want to?” Stiles shrugged. “What happened to ‘me and sharp things don’t get along’?”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably for a moment, then said, “at the hut, with The Darach… look, let’s just say I’d like to be more prepared in the future.”

Something like sympathy entered Erica’s eyes, but she nodded. “Alright. How much do you know about form?”

Stiles blinked. “Form?”

Erica groaned. “Oh, this is going to take so much work.”

When the pack heard about their plans, they’d hovered around like puppies waiting for food – _hah!_ – but Erica all but kicked them out. They found a quiet clearing with only a few trees around, and a flat patch of ground to make sure they couldn’t trip.

Erica got into position and Stiles pulled his knife out of his pocket – Cora had been sharpening it during their trip to the hut, but as soon as he came back he asked for it back, and she didn’t protest. Stiles tried to copy Erica as best he could, holding the knife awkwardly as he tried to balance.

Erica took one look at him and sighed. “Put the knife down.”

“What?” Stiles frowned. “But I need it to defend myself. You can’t expect me to defend myself with just my fists.”

“That’s _exactly_ what I expect.”

“Dude! Magic, floaty witch who put Derek into a coma for three days! Does none of that ring a bell? I can’t exactly punch a supernatural entity until she runs away.”

“First off,” Erica said, grabbing his weapon and setting it under a nearby tree, “fighting is more than just knives and fists. You’re not attacking _anyone_ until you learn proper form.”

“Proper form?” Stiles scoffed. “Pretty sure in the middle of a fight, form is going to be the _last_ thing I’m thinking about.”

“Why is why the point of this exercise is to get you into it by instinct.” She walked behind him, kicking out at his feet without telling him. Stiles jumped and scowled, muttering under his breath as she moved into position. “Your feet, they should be hip-length apart. See the way I’m pointing my own? Do that, and make sure your rear heel is always raised with your weight on the ball of your foot.”

Stiles blinked at her serious tone. “That’s important, I take it?”

She nodded. “Very. If you stand flatfooted on both feet, you’re slower and more sluggish, and before you know it—” she pulled him forward before he could react, sending him tumbling and tripping and smirking as he landed on his back, “—you’re a dead man.”

Stiles groaned. “Ugh. Can I call a time out, yet?”

Erica spent the rest of the afternoon adjusting his basic stance. Tiny thinks he didn’t even think mattered, like the tenseness of his stomach of how far his elbows stuck out, each new piece of information just another thing to get yelled at when he didn’t get it perfect right away – clearly Erica wasn’t destined to be a teacher, but Stiles was willing to put up with her impatience if it meant he’d be more ready for his next fight.

After hours of practising – they’d finally introduced movement, and all the progress Stiles had made went out the _window_ – Erica allowed them to take a break. They sat under the cover of a tree and relaxed, fanning themselves and complaining about the sun.

“So how come you know all of this?” Stiles asked. “I mean, you’re a werewolf. Can’t you just shift and claw and/or bite them to death?”

Erica shrugged. “Derek doesn’t like us doing that. Says that when we’re shifted, we’re less controlled, less aware of reason and rationality. If we’re swept up in the simplified emotions of our wolves, we can get carried away.”

Stiles’ mind flickered back to when the pack attacked the hunters, how they’d torn the men apart violently and without remorse. It made sense that Derek didn’t want to encourage that – even if his entire family hadn’t been killed just the same way, being in a primal state probably didn’t help when you were dealing with dangers that had access to magic and spells.

“Fighting as a human means control. It means we get the benefit of a clear mind and the ability to stop and think. Plus,” she half-shifted, holding out her clawed hand proudly. “Not having opposable thumbs is actually a bigger problem than you’d think.”

Stiles hummed, watching as she turned back to human. “I’ll keep it in mind not to get my fingers chopped off.” Erica grinned. “Still, though. You guys seem pretty controlled to me.”

“That’s because we have strong anchors.”

“Anchors?”

She nodded, waving her hand through the air as if drawing an invisible painting. “Something that keeps you grounded to humanity, that brings out back if you’re losing your head. It’s one of the first things Derek taught us, said it was _very_ important.” She laughed. “He didn’t let Isaac out of a cave for an entire month until he finally managed to find his anchor.”

“Was it his scarves?” Stiles asked with a smirk.

“ _Hah –_ if only! I think it’s his brother, actually.”

“His brother?” Stiles asked, replaying Isaac’s words about his ‘shitty brother’ in his head.

“From what I know, they didn’t have a good relationship, but Isaac says the memory reminds him of why he needs to control himself.”

Stiles nodded. “What’s your anchor?”

“Boyd.” Erica sighed longingly. She looked down and fidgeted with her thumbs, hesitating before choosing to speak. “Where I came from, I didn’t have a lot of friends. I kind of stuck out as the freak of the village – I had an illness that made me have seizures, that made me too sick to do anything fun. The other kids left me out of all their games and the adults didn’t really know what to do with me – according to them, there wasn’t a cure to what I had, so I was just going to have to deal with it all my life, and the _pity_ that came along with it…”

She made a disgusted face, then shook her head. “Anyways, when Derek came around, the only thing I needed to hear were the words ‘it could cure you’ and I took the chance. Derek told me it would either cure me or kill me, but at that point I didn’t really care. The pack was nice to me, sure, but Boyd…” She sighed. “Boyd was the only one who really _got_ me. Who got what it was like to be alone. So yeah, he’s my anchor.”

“Are you his anchor too, then?”

“I better be,” she joked, and Stiles laughed.

“And Derek?” Erica smirked and Stiles’ cheeks flushed. “What?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Someone’s got a crush, do they?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles insisted as he got up. “Now come on, were you training me to fight or what?”

By the end of the day, Stiles was ready to keel over and die. Erica was happy to let him know it was “a start” and patted him on the back, the touch just hard enough to send Stiles collapsing onto the ground and whining dramatically.

Fighting was surprisingly difficult, and by the end of the week he still hadn’t upgraded to knives. Apparently his ‘neck was in the wrong position’, whatever the hell that meant, and no matter how many times he complained to Derek to get someone else to train him the wolf just looked amused and smirked.

Ugh, wolves shouldn’t have even been able to smirk. But Derek was difficult like that, so.

By week two Stiles was allowed to hold a knife, which was a surprisingly big step. There was all sorts of sciences about how to hold it, how to balance the weight, and Stiles largely ignored it until he cut himself one time and was basically grounded.

Derek had given him such a glare, but all it did was make Stiles wonder what it would look like on his human face.

The next day, everyone gathered around the fire with their food and eagerly awaited for the moon to rise. To Stiles, it felt like eons passed until the silver orb was finally high enough that Derek could transform. He sat there, practically vibrating, as Derek’s fur turned shorter, his limbs grew longer, and his fur became lighter.

Derek stood before them, a human under the full moon, and smiled.

Stiles smiled right back and thought, _I am so fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes:
> 
> • So I'm not too happy with this one but it is what it is. Lingering on physical injuries? Don't know her, I only know rushing the plot without giving the characters a second to rest because I am _impatient_.
> 
> • Grief is not a cool thing, neither does it make sense, hence the ideas in this chapter (and the last one). Stiles' thoughts are actually based on my own from a family death, and I think it's pretty common to relentlessly blame yourself for something that clearly wasn't your fault? So yeah these boys got baggage :P
> 
> • My own personal headcanon is that the reason Stiles has a buzzcut in season 1 was because he got his head shaved along with his mom, and I wanted to include that here. Of course, Claudia would have lost her hair because of radio therapy, which isn't possible in this time, so I decided to give it a little twist!
> 
> • I have never been in a single fight my entire life and don't use knives for anything other than to put butter on my toast. All the knowledge here comes from stalking websites at 3am whilst high on energy drinks. I also watched a few videos and tried only to use the things that were said across multiple platforms, so SOME of it might be right???? Ahhhh idk
> 
> • Fight scenes suck and are the death of me. Which is hilarious because I've backed myself into a corner with this fic but it'll help me grow as a writer??? Maybe??? Hopefully? Feel free to write down all that I did right, and some stuff I can improve on in my next fight scene - feedback is really cool and helpful! <3
> 
> Thanks for reading and your (bi)weekly reminder than a writer's diet is comments and kudos!! Don't hesitate to write down your thoughts, I read and reply to all of them. Pointing out spelling mistakes is also a thing that will get you in my good books, don't bother being shy, it's a great help. Thanks again :D


	9. Nooo, Don't Fight Me You're So Sexy Haha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter's summary:
> 
> After recovering from their fight with The Darach, Stiles decides he's had enough of being useless in battle and asks Erica to train him. After a discussion of anchors with Erica, Derek transforms into a human under the full moon again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse other than being busy. Sorry!
> 
> As usual, corrections are welcome because I'm useless and don't have time to proof-read my own stuff. Yay procrastination! No warnings, so enjoy this chapter <3

The punch came quick, and Stiles barely had enough time to duck away from it.

His attacker didn’t let up, instead running after him as he stumbled and stuttered. They swung widely, sharp claws swiping the air inches away from his face as he flinched. He brought his knife up and struck blindly, glad to hear the sound of hissing as his blade made contact with skin.

That didn’t mean he could relax, though, and so he jumped up and ran forward, missing the surrounding trees with nothing but luck. There was breath at the back of his neck, and he could feel the person behind him getting closer and closer and closer.

It was hopeless, running away. He wasn’t fast enough, and even if he had been, there was no way he’d be able to run long enough to get away from his pursuer. No, he had to turn around. He had to fight.

With a steadying breath, Stiles skidded to a stop and ducked under. Like he predicted, the person tripped and fell to the floor, scrambling back onto two legs after only a second. But a second was enough for Stiles to grab his own knife and bring it forward, to swing up and down and left and right until—

There was another body behind him, and before he knew it they’d wrapped their arms around his chest and squeezed. He tried to attack them with his knife but it was no use, a sharp claw pressed to his neck so neatly that even swallowing made his heart pound.

He closed his eyes, prepared for defeat, and time seemed to stretch as he waited. And he waited, and waited, and _waited—_

“Too sloppy,” Erica said, getting up from the floor. She looked back up and sighed. “You can let him go now, Malia.”

Behind Stiles, Malia unwrapped his arms and grinned. “That was fun!” she said. “Thanks for letting me take part.”

“I still say _I_ put my hand up first,” Isaac said, emerging from the forest shadows with the rest of the pack behind him. “Erica just likes Malia more.”

Malia was about to reply when Erica waved her hands, interrupting them. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Isaac’s a lonely, lonely boy. Now Stiles: what did you do wrong this time?”

Stiles, who had taken the end of the training session as an opportunity to sprawl across the ground and cough his lungs out, groaned. “Nothing! I did nothing wrong! You guys are just supernaturally good at, well, _everything_ because you’re goddamn werewolves!”

He closed his eyes and expected Erica to start chastising him, to roll out that ten-minute-long lecture she always had on hand for whenever he fucked up (which was, unsurprisingly, a lot).

“You left your back exposed.”

But it wasn’t Erica who spoke.

Stiles sat up, suddenly a lot more self-conscious about laying on the ground like that, to see Derek leaning against the tree with an eyebrow quirked.

“What?”

“You left your back exposed,” he said again, and walked forward to offer his hand. Stiles took it almost instantly. “When you’re fighting two opponents, you should never leave your back exposed if you don’t know where the second is. Otherwise,” he gestured to Malia, “they’ll get you that way.”

“Ugh, whatever. Who even thought it’d be a good idea to have a training session today? Isn’t the full moon supposed to be about _Derek?”_ To prove his point, he waved his hands at Derek as if revealing some grand project. The werewolf just looked amused. “Come on guys, why don’t you fight _him?”_

“That’s a great idea!” Erica said.

“Thank you.”

“You should _totally_ fight Derek!”

Stiles blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, hell yes.” Cora laughed. “An opportunity to see Derek beat Stiles to a pulp? Yes please.”

Stiles touched his hand to his chest, making a hurt face. “Why are you guys so determined to kill me? I thought we’d moved onto being friends, now?”

“We’re keeping you for winter food,” Malia said wisely. “I tend to get hungrier when the winds go cold.”

“You,” Stiles said prissly, “are terrifying.”

Malia beamed like it was a compliment.

Derek stepped up to Stiles, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that made Stiles suddenly feel very thirsty. “So,” he said, his voice smug, and sent him a look. “You not up for the challenge? Accepted you’re not strong enough to fight me?”

And Stiles didn’t like that look. Oh _nooo,_ he definitely didn’t – the look that screamed, ‘ _good thing you said no, for_ your _sake.’_ Stiles wasn’t an idiot, okay? He knew he wasn’t as strong as Derek. The guy had biceps the side of his head, not to mention magical werewolf mojo.

But Stiles really _was_ improving. A week ago, he wouldn’t have been able to stand against Erica for a minute. And yet tonight he’d tripped her up and even cut her a couple times. He wasn’t too bad with his fists, and his knife work was coming along steadily, and Stiles just wasn’t the type of person to back from a challenge.

So he met Derek’s eyes and said, “bring it on dude.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“Don’t ruin this for me, Derek.”

Derek just laughed, the sound sending tingles through Stiles’ body, and lead the way into a larger clearing, one that wasn’t filled with trees that Stiles would inevitably have fallen over. Stiles looked around for a moment, hearing Erica’s voice in his head. She’d told him before that he needed to take in his environment, track if there were things he could use to his advantage or things he needed to avoid.

The clearing his pretty unassuming – just flat land, and the grass wasn’t tall enough to cause any problems. Satisfied with his assessment, he turned back just in time to see Derek slipping off his tunic and throwing it on the ground. He then rolled his shoulders and stretched, bending over to touch his toes and even throwing a lunge or two in there.

He looked up, then blinked when he saw Stiles staring. “What?”

Stiles spluttered, and his mouth did _not_ go dry all of a sudden. Trust him. It didn’t.

For a second he could have sworn Derek had smirked, but then the werewolf moved into position and the moment passed. The pack gathered around them, standing to the side with eager smiles as Stiles let Erica’s lessons wash over him, remembering to keep his feet apart and his rear heel up. Erica’s lecture about his arms rung clear, and he balled up his fists as he steeled himself.

Derek looked him up and down, then nodded to Erica. “Not bad.”

The girl smiled and Stiles rolled his eyes. “Don’t compliment _her,_ I’m the one who’s actually doing shit.”

“Anyone who has to put up with you for that long should get a reward,” Cora said, and pack jokingly seconded her.

Stiles opened his mouth to respond when arms snaked around his neck. He only had a second to panic before he was brought into a headlock, Derek’s broad chest behind him to keep him still.

“Still think you’re ‘doing shit’?”

Stiles gritted his teeth as Derek’s breath ran over his neck. “This was totally cheating. I wasn’t ready that time.”

“Hunters aren’t going to wait for you to be ready.” Derek let him go, returning to his position with a haughty look, and Stiles suddenly missed him being so close. “You can’t have distractions. You should be ready for an attack at all times.”

Stiles frowned. “Well, that doesn’t sound like fun.”

“It’s not fun, it’s _survival.”_

“Yeesh, you’re even more grumpy in fighter-mode.”

Derek rolled his eyes and struck again.

Sparring with Derek was nothing like sparring with Erica.

For one, he’d been training with Erica for a while now. Even though she was sneaky and strong, he’d spent such a long time learning her moves and getting used to her patterns that most of his dodges and attacks became instinct. He might not have been fast enough to dodge her fist, but he knew she put just a _bit_ too much weight on her left leg, and if he dodged that way, her attack would go wide and she’d miss.

Things like that made it a lot easier to spar her, lulled him into a false sense of security. Because fighting Derek?

Was _entirely_ different.

Derek was fast. All his movements were quick and calculated, never an inch too small or too big, performed so precisely that most of them left Stiles blinking in shock. He’d twist and turn, always coming up where Stiles didn’t expect him, and each time Stiles tried to deal a blow, the werewolf moved quicker than he could blink, deflecting almost every hint. He always seemed to know when Stiles was taking a breath, or when he’d hurt himself, because that’s when he’d attack and catch the human off-guard.

It took him three times to be thrown onto his back until he finally figured out just _why_ Derek was so good.

“You’re using your werewolf magic,” Stiles accused him. “That’s double cheating, I can’t fight against that!”

“It’s not _‘magic’_. And I’m not going to hold back my biggest asset in a fight.”

“But I’m not going to be fighting _werewolves_. Why should I be training to fight werewolves if I’m not going to do that?”

“Who says you won’t?” When Stiles just blinked, Derek sighed. “We’re not the only supernatural creatures out here, Stiles. We’re not even the only _shifters._ Selkies, kitsune, kanimas. You need to be ready to protect yourself from all of them.”

“Well, I haven’t even gotten down fighting normal humans,” he huffed. “Can’t you just give me a break until I finally manage to kick your ass?”

From the side, Erica snorted. “Yeah, that’s not happening. I’ll tell you what you _can_ do to Derek’s ass, though—”

“No!” The rest of the pack cried, and Erica fell over in laughter.

“Look,” Derek said. “Why don’t you show me some standard moves with your knife? I’ll help you with your stance.”

“My stance?” Stiles groaned. “Erica’s already yelled about that for ages. I’m pretty sure I’ve already got that down, dude.”

Derek sighed, half-amused and half-frustrated. “Just do it, Stiles.”

Stiles did it, grumbling under his breath the entire time, and got into position. He imaged a figure in front of him, slashing and dashing at the air a few times. After a moment, Derek tutted.

“You’re moving too much.”

“I’m what?” Stiles looked down at himself. “I though the whole point of training was to _not_ get carved up like a turkey? You want me to stand still the whole time?”

This time, Derek’s sigh _definitely_ sounded annoyed. “Okay, _fine_. You’re not moving too much, you’re moving too big.”

Stiles blinked. “Is this some kind of riddle?”

“Strike downward,” he said, and when Stiles completed the action he pointed to his feet. “There, see? You’re taking three steps instead of one. You’re wasting your energy and, more importantly, your attacks are bigger as a result.” He got in front of Stiles. “Try to attack me.”

After a brief pause, Stiles tried to take a swipe at Derek, huffing when he missed. “Okay, so you’re super fast. What else is new?”

“By taking three steps back, you’re father away from me. And if you’re father away from me, you can’t aim as well. Instead of precise and swift, your attacks are wide and clumsy.”

He told Stiles to attack him again, but this time he stayed close to his back. Stiles tried to catch him, turning wildly and swinging his knife in abandon, but each time he kept missing. After another minute, Derek quickly disarmed him and held the knife in front of him.

“You need to learn not to move as much, to stay close to your enemy and keep your movements small.”

Then, without warning, he pulled Stiles into his chest.

Stiles had a vague awareness of Derek holding his hand up, twisting his fingers into certain shapes so they held the knife properly, but all he could hear was the loud _thud thud thud_ of his own chest. He wondered if Derek could hear it, with his chest pressed to Stiles’ back, then realised he was a werewolf and he definitely could.

He tried to relax himself, to take a deep breath, but he feel his skin growing warmer and warmer until he, too, was tempted to take his tunic off.

“—you even listening to me, Stiles?”

“Hmm?” Stiles asked, head still in the clouds, then shook his head. “What? Uhh, yep. Totally heard all of that. Uh-huh.”

“Right,” Derek said, practically _purred_ , into his ear, and Stiles wondered if he was doing it on purpose. “Mind showing me that, then?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said.

The next five minutes promptly showed that Stiles _hadn’t_ listened to him, at all.

They took a break after, Stiles gathering flack from the pack who yelled loving insults and half-hearted advice, all whilst placing bets on how soon Stiles would give up and quit. Which only made him _more_ determined, in all honestly. They couldn’t have expected him to hear that and actually give up, could they? No way.

With that thought in mind, Stiles looked into the corner of his eye to see Derek talking with Cora. He seemed to be lost in their conversation, looking even a little flustered, but Stiles was too busy making a plan to wonder what they were talking about.

He slowly crept forward, making sure to keep his footsteps light, and froze when he met Cora’s eyes. The girl blinked, then turned back to Derek without a single change to her expression, save for the start of a smirk on her lips.

Stiles let out a breath, then, summoning all his strength, bowled right into Derek’s side and pushed _hard_.

Derek’s surprised little squawk was adorable, honestly, and he fell to the ground with Stiles clinging to his stomach. As soon as they landed, the boy sprung up to his knees and put his elbow to Derek’s neck, effectively causing him to freeze.

“Holy crap! I did it!” Stiles cried. He pumped the air with his fist, leaning back until his back rested on Derek’ knees. He did a little wiggle dance, ignoring Derek’s grunting as he sang his victory song. “I freaking _diiiid_ it, I beat _Deeeerek_ , no-one can _stoooop_ me, I freaking _diiiid_ it—”

Without warning, his life was tipped to the side and he landed on his back.

Derek sat above him, hands fisted near his ears and a wicked grin across his face. Stiles had to drag his eyes away from Derek’s lips, which were _right there, oh-so close_ , as he registered him speaking.

“What did I tell you about distractions?” Derek asked, and Stiles swallowed.

_Oh, he’s distracting all right._

Derek seemed to have realised how close they were, their noses practically touching, because he blinked and frowned. He didn’t pull away, though. Neither of them did, left in a tense silence, unable to look away from each other, barely breathing. Stiles swore Derek had just moved, starting to lean in closer and closer until—”

“Well that was fun!”

Isaac’s voice boomed through the silence, and before Stiles knew it Derek was gone. He was left to blink at the night sky for a moment, dazed, and looked up to see Derek standing on the other side of the clearing, arms crossed over his chest.

At the side, everyone was scowling at Isaac. “What?” The boy frowned. “What’d I do?”

Cora rolled her eyes. “Nice job, Isaac.”

Whilst the rest of the pack continued to hound Isaac, Stiles closed his eyes so that he could catch a breath. When he opened them, he was startled to see Derek hovering above him, offering him a hand.

He hesitated, then took it without looking into Derek’s eyes. “Thanks. For the, uh, that whole… training… session… thing. Really, um, really appreciated, dude.”

Derek was silent for a moment, then said, “don’t call me dude.”

Stiles grinned, relieved for a reason he couldn’t be bothered to look into, and finally looked up. Derek’s face was dusted with pink, his ears flushed bright and a cautious look in his eyes. Stiles purposefully patted his arm, trying to exude as much casualty into the gesture as possible.”

“Sure thing, dude.” He pointed back the way they came. “Let’s go eat some.”

It was a little awkward, after.

They’d settled by a fire pit Stiles had set up earlier that night, everyone huddled around the warmth like they were in the arctic even though the air was only slightly chilly. Stiles tried to stare into the flames and keep his mind blank, to ignore everything but the fire, but he kept replaying the moment in his mind – the tension, the staring, the stab of frustration he’d felt when Isaac had broken the spell.

When Derek hesitated before sitting next to him, something made him swallow heavily. He shook his head and reached for his piece of meat. Ignoring it, right.

The pack seemed to have forgotten their squabbles and were talking amongst themselves. In fact, they seemed to have forgotten Stiles and Derek _entirely,_ leaving them in a somewhat-awkward silence as they kept to themselves.

Eventually, bored out of his mind, Stiles started to throw tiny rocks he’d picked up into the fire. As the second passed he grew more and more immersed, making it a tiny game for himself, when he felt a snort to his side.

“What are you doing?”

Stiles looked at Derek, then quickly back to the fire. He threw another stone. “Bored.”

“What, am I not interesting enough for you?” His tone was light and teasing, but it still made Stiles blush and want to bite at his nails.

“You’re plenty interesting,” Stiles said, then rushed to add, “the pack is, uh, I meant the pack is interesting. Where else could I get bullied into sparring with the alpha of a pack of werewolves and a grouchy werecoyote?”

Derek laughed, conceding his point. “I imagine that’s quite different to what it was like in your home.”

“No kidding. Life was pretty boring, where I came from. The whole sacrifice thing was probably the most drama we’d had in years.” He looked to Derek and cautiously asked, “what about your village? You obviously don’t have to answer, I’m not pressuring you or anything—”

“It’s fine.” Derek cleared his throat and smiled, though to Stiles it looked a bit sad. “My mother had us all trained when we came of age, to ensure we could protect ourselves. I used to spar with my sister, Laura, and we’d sometimes get so carried away we’d break down other tents.”

Stiles whistled and he laughed.

“Yeah. I was never much good at keeping my anger under control. Laura loved annoying me until I broke.” He shook his head, then gestured across the fire. “Cora was only ten when the fire happened, so she never got the chance to learn with my mom. I had to teach her whatever I could, instead.”

Stiles knocked their shoulders together without thinking. “I’m sure you were a great teacher. The pack all seem to have decent controls on their wolves, and that’s down to you, right?”

“Partly. Sometimes people just naturally have better controls, whilst others don’t.”

“How do you think I would do?”

Derek stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

Stiles, who’d straightened in his seat to send him a dazzling smile, frowned. “What?”

“Stiles, you have the shortest attention span out of everyone I know, and that’s _without_ hearing everything in a five-mile radius. Someone could be running through the forest at full speed and you’d be distracted by a squirrel.”

“You’re rude,” Stiles dismissed him. “I bet I’d make an awesome werewolf. None of you would see _any_ of these moves coming.” He punctuated the words with flailing arms, waving them wildly until Derek practically had to restrain him, mouth curled up in a smile.

They laughed about it a bit, and when he calmed down, Derek thoughtfully looked Stiles up and down. “Would you want to?”

Stiles looked up. “Hmm?”

“Be a wolf?”

He stilled. With the way Derek was watching him, eyes dark and intent, leaning forward like he was tracking his heartbeat for a lie, Stiles knew his words here were important. That if he said yes, he could be offered the bite and it’d change his life. Completely. Any injuries he got would be cured in a matter of seconds, anyone who tried to fight him would have to go up against his super strength, and he’d be able to catch anything coming at him from miles away.

Objectively speaking, being a werewolf sounded like a pretty solid deal. He was sure that if Scott was here, he’d practically be yelling at Stiles to say yes, to accept, that Derek was offering him the coolest thing ever.

“No,” he eventually said. Because Scott _wasn’t_ here.

Derek stared at him some more, and he said, “look, man, you said it yourself – I’d make a pretty shitty wolf. I mean, I can barely fight you off as a human, and if I had to keep track of super strength and super speed and, like, magic senses? I don’t think I’d do so well. But, even without that… I think I _like_ being human. I like having five fingers and being surrounded by fur when I sleep. I like not having to worry about constantly being on the offence, just trusting you guys to keep an eye on stuff. And, more than anything, I like knowing that I could get you guys out of any supernatural trap you’d managed to throw yourself into.

“I want to stay human.” He looked at Derek shyly. “If that’s okay with you.”

Derek sighed, running a hand through his hair. Stiles only had a moment to panic before he spoke again. “That’s fine. Of course it’s _fine_ , I’d never force you to take the bite. Just… you’re a lot more vulnerable this way. Others will see you as an easier target and go after you first.”

Stiles grinned. “To be underestimated is an incredible gift. If it gives you guys more time to sneak up on the monster of the week, why give them any reason to doubt it?”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “That sounds way too wise to have come from you.”

Stiles snorted, thumping his shoulder with his fist, which, really, hurt him more than it hurt Derek. He shrugged. “Something my dad used to say. I think he always thought I’d follow him, be the next chief, but..”

“But now you’re here,” Derek finished, and Stiles nodded.

“Still. Even if I hadn’t been practically kidnapped by the clingiest pack on the continent, I think I would have too impatient to lead a village anyway.”

The man’s lips twitched and he sent Stiles an exaggeratedly dubious look. “You? Impatient? Never.”

“Alright, asshole,” Stiles laughed, tucking his chin close to his chest. “You can’t tell me that you were the perfect alpha instantly, either.”

Derek’s expression sobered somewhat, and a part of Stiles mourned his smile. “It took some time, I like to hope I’m doing better now.”

Stiles didn’t even have to think. The words _‘you are’_ flew off his tongue easily and naturally, as if it were the only proper response, and because it _was_. And yet Derek looked surprised. Like he hadn’t expected it, like he hadn’t thought Stiles would agree, Derek just sent him a soft smile, and Stiles could do nothing but smile back.

They sat in silence for a moment. Well, as much silence as you could get with six rowdy weres talking loudly around them. They listened in to random conversations with grins for a while until Stiles cleared his throat and nudged their shoulders.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said. “I want to stay, I do, trust me. I’m more than happy to help you look for the cure to the curse until you’re old and wrinkly and made entirely out of dust.”

Derek laughed. “Just me?”

“I’m going to be young forever, obviously,” Stiles scoffed. “But… it just feels wrong to leave my dad like that. Not knowing I’m alive, thinking he had to sacrifice me. I’d feel much better if I could go home and say goodbye to him. _Properly_ , this time.”

Derek watched him. “You want to go home?”

“Only for a few days. Just to let him know I’m okay. Tell my dad how I’m doing, check in with Scott and Melissa. Hell, maybe I could even tell them that you guys aren’t so bad.”

At that, the wolf looked away. “That’s probably not a good idea. If you want your dad _not_ to worry, mentioning that you’re living with a pack of weres is only going to make him fret even more.”

Stiles sighed, knowing that was true. He turned the thought over in his head, wondering what kind of cover story he’d come up with, before blinking quickly. “Wait, is that a yes? I can go back to my village?”

“I – of course I’m not going to _keep_ you here,” Derek said haltingly. “But…” He stopped.

Stiles leaned forward. “What? What is it?”

They watched each other for a moment, silent. Then Derek said, “what if you don’t want to come back?”

Something in Stiles’ chest bloomed. “That won’t happen, Derek. I’m going to come back.”

“And if your dad keeps you behind? You really think he’ll be willing to let his son go a second time?”

Stiles rubbed at his temple. “That’s, I’ll admit… trickier. But my dad trusts me – if I told him I was safe with you, that I was _happy_ with you, then he’d believe it.” He coughed. “I mean. Happy with ‘you guys.’ Duh.”

“Right,” Derek said, then nodded. “Just a few days.”

“That’s it,” Stiles nodded. He leaned forward until Derek had to look into his eyes, until he could see his expression. This was important; he wasn’t letting Derek think something different. “I’m coming back, sourwolf. Sorry to say, but you’re stuck with me.”

Derek snorted. Stiles waited, waited for him to say that he wasn’t _‘stuck’_ with him, that it wasn’t something to be sorry for – maybe even to lean forward and finish what they’d started in the clearing. Instead, Derek turned to the fire and nodded.

“We’ll start on our way back in the morning. Give the pack the rest of the night to relax before we share the plan.”

Something in Stiles’ chest warmed, that with just a simple suggestion Derek was set to reorganise their migration route at the drop of a hat. He watched Derek for a minute, then another and another and another until Derek turned to him and he looked away.

For the rest of the night, Stiles kept replaying how close they’d been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes:
> 
> • How'd that little fight scene go, ah? Caught anyone off guard? Not too difficult to read? As I've said before, I suck at writing fight scenes so these last few chapters have been quite challenging for me. Feel free to give me any feedback in the comments!
> 
> • As mentioned, I know nothing about fighting. The stuff I gathered here is just from late nights googling. In other news, I really hope the government doesn't look into my search history because it is.... concerning...
> 
> • "Wolves can hear as far as six miles away in the forest and ten miles in the open" according to the internet! Derek's little "five-mile radius' remark is factually correct! On that note, no hate for any werewolf Stiles fics, obviously. This was just me trying to justify why I think he wouldn't take the bite in this universe.
> 
> • This is probably a stretch, but did anyone catch that Black Sails reference? When Stiles says "To be underestimated is an incredible gift" comes from Black Sails, 3x10, said by Jack Rackham! One of my favourite TV shows and would highly recommend to anyone who's interested in period dramas OR gays. My only warning is to check the trigger warnings, because the first season is quite heavy. Other than that, awesome show!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated - any type of feedback helps me keep writing this, so don't be shy to write down your thoughts <3


	10. Hi Honey, I'm Home!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last week's chapter:
> 
> At the full moon, Stiles spars off with Derek and things get steamy. Afterwards, he tells Derek he wants to go home and say goodbye to his family before fully joining the pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This sucks! I'm tired! Enjoy <3

The night sky was endless, inky black reaching so far into the corners of the sky that it was a wonder the sun ever rose at all. The thought of an endless night should have been scary, but small balls of light in the sky glittered just enough to turn one’s thoughts from terrified into awed.

 _It’s beautiful_ , Stiles thought, then turned around to look at the man lying next to him. _It’s beautiful, but it really doesn’t compare to him._

He was so caught up in staring that he almost missed when Derek shot his hand into the sky and said, “okay, what about this one?”

Stiles blinked before looking away. He followed Derek’s hand and grinned. “Nope, that’s not it,” he said. “That’s the _fish_ constellation. Which, if you ask me—”

“I really didn’t,” Derek said, but Stiles ignored him.

“—doesn’t look _anything_ like a fish, but whenever I pointed it out back at the village the elders just told me to be quiet and listen to their stories. As if _I_ was the weird one for thinking there couldn’t possibly be a fish in the sky.” He rolled his eyes, then looked to Derek with a grin. “So nope, keep looking.”

Derek turned back and sighed. He pointed up again and said, “there?”

Stiles shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint, but that’s the ram.”

Derek took a frustrated breath and poked his hand up once more. “Alright, what about _there?”_

“That’s not even a constellation!” Stiles crowed. “Come on, dude, it’s not that hard.”

Derek scowled. “I’m not even sure if I believe you.”

“It’s true! There’s a wolf constellation, I _swear_ ,” Stiles said. “My mom used to tell me about them all the time.”

“Well, _my_ mom was a werewolf,” Derek shot back. “Pretty sure I’d know if there was a wolf in the sky.”

“Do you think that’s where werewolves go when they die?” Stiles asked. “Do they join Lupus in the sky, in their afterlife?”

Derek huffed, amused. “Whatever gets me away from you, I’ll take it.”

Stiles gasped dramatically and hit his shoulder, instantly regretting his choice when his fist ached afterward. “Gods, why do I always forget that?” he whispered to himself, and Derek sniggered to himself.

“Where would humans go, then? Sagittarius?”

“That’s only half human,” he said, then smirked. “Bootes.” At Derek’s confused look, he added, “the herdsman.”

Derek scowled. “Oh, shut up. You are _not_ our herdsman.”

“I disagree!” Stiles flailed away just in time to miss Derek’s arm, cackling like a madman as he did. “Remember yesterday, when I had to corral Isaac away from that cliff edge? Or when Malia almost ran after that pheasant last week?”

“Whatever,” Derek said, and turned away.

Before he could do, Stiles gasped and poked at his cheek. “Is that a _pout_? Are you _pouting?!_ Is the great, ferocious Hale Alpha _pouting?!”_

“I am not!” Derek cried, but Stiles was too busy laughing.

“Oh, dude, you so are! You totally are! I can’t wait to tell everyone else, they’re going to laugh so hard—”

He squeaked when he was pushed over, back connecting with the ground. Derek loomed above him, just as he had a few weeks ago, but this time Stiles didn’t freeze. This time he didn’t hesitate to move up, to wrap his arms around Derek’s neck and breathe across his face.

“Well?” he said, and Derek blinked his large, rainbow-coloured eyes.

“Well what?”

“Are you going to kiss me?”

Derek grinned. “Not even going to say please?”

Stiles leaned forward, close enough that their faces were resting against one another, and whispered into his ear, _“_ pretty please _.”_

Derek smiled and moved down. “Stiles…”

Stiles tried to chase his lips but was pushed away. “What?”

“Stiles…”

Still distracted, he sighed, _“what?”_

_“Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles—”_

“Stiles, wake up already!”

Stiles sprung up, wide awake. Then he moaned and covered his eyes again. “ _Nooo,”_ he mumbled into his hands. “Why, why, why, why? Seriously, gods, why did you have to wake me up from _that?”_

“Uh...”

Stiles looked up to see Malia giving him a weird look, and sighed. “Fine, I’m up. Now why, for the love of the gods, did you wake me?”

Malia rolled her eyes. “Because we’re almost at your village, genius. Now get up – the sun’s rising and we’re leaving soon.”

Stiles watched her walk away, seemingly glad to leave the sheltered cave for the open air, and sighed. _Right._

It was a few weeks after Stiles had told Derek he’d wanted to go back home. It still hadn’t really hit Stiles yet, that he was going to see his _dad_ soon, but the rest of the pack didn’t seem to have the same problem.

Instead, they crowded around him like he was about to run off at any minute. Anytime he wandered off to be alone, he found himself being followed by a shadow, and on the rare occasion that he _did_ manage to get away, when he came back they stared at him as if they’d been deeply betrayed.

It was a little bit funny, and a little bit sad, but Stiles had already made up his mind, and he wasn’t changing it for anyone.

And then there was Derek.

Oh, _Derek._

The last full moon had confirmed that, yep, Stiles was hopelessly head-over-heels for Derek. For his perfect face, expressive eyebrows, the way he laughed and smiled, the little frown he got when he was confused or worried.

Basically, Stiles had a big fat crush on Derek and it was the _worst_.

Not only did the thought of the grumpy sourwolf make him smile and giggle like a young child, but the fact that Derek was a wolf for all that time simply sucked. Wolf-Derek was great, had a sense of humour that didn’t require speaking to make everyone laugh, and was protective and caring and all that, but he was still a _wolf!_

If there was at least one reason for the next full moon to come sooner, it was so Stiles could grab Derek’s stupid neck and touch his stupid beard and kiss that stupid smirk off his stupid face, _gods._

Back in the village, Stiles had had a crush on his girl Lydia – who was supposedly being courted by Jackson, but she didn’t really seem to reciprocate his feelings, so _ha!_ – and he revelled in the feeling of coming up with a plan, of following the steps and asking her out and, when he inevitably got rejected, to go back and look it over and come again from a different angle.

Sure, now Stiles knew that he was a creepy little kid with an unhealthy obsession and shouldn’t have kept pressing so hard, but he liked plans, damnit! He had a ten year plan of how to woo and seduce her, and as soon as an idea came into his head he didn’t like waiting on it because, if he did, he’d end up talking himself out of it and ultimately do nothing.

But Stiles couldn’t do that _now_. Derek was a wolf thirty days out of the month and a human only one. On top of that, he was going home, and we wouldn’t be seeing Derek for a couple of days. And that _sucked_. He’d just realised his feelings, damnit, the universe couldn’t give him a few days to revel in it?!

Plus, it was pretty hard to figure out if Derek liked him back.

Like, a few days ago he’d brought Stiles a rabbit he’d clearly hunted just for him. Was that supposed to be romantic? Was it a gift? Was he _courting_ Stiles, trying to prove he’d be a worthy mate, or was it just a friendship thing and Stiles was freaking out for nothing?

Stiles wanted answers, but Derek couldn’t talk and Erica would laugh in his face and hell would freeze over before Stiles even _consider_ approaching Cora for help.

Gods. The moment Derek was human, Stiles was going to kiss the fuck out of him – _as revenge._

Outside, everyone’s movement was slow. It was still fairly early, but even in the morning light Stiles thought he vaguely recognised the forest around him. He’d been a curious child, wandering around with Scott even when he was told to stay home, and being out here just brought back some memories of getting lost in the middle of the night.

He was brought out of his stupor when a furry head bumped against his knee. He looked down, grinning, to see Derek cradling his waterskin, filled to the brim and slightly leaking out the side.

“Aww, thanks man,” he said, crouching down to rub Derek’s ears. “Slowly coming around to playing ‘fetch’, are you?”

Derek glared at him, turning away with a haughty head-shake, and Cora playfully hit at Stiles’ shoulder. “That’s one thing I’m _definitely_ not going to miss whilst you’re gone – the dog jokes.”

“Hey, you guys love me,” Stiles said, and the pack gave half-hearted replies. He put a hand to his chest. “Oh, I see how it is. And here I thought you cared about me.”

“No idea where you got that from,” Erica said, grinning, and Stiles just barely ducked away in time to avoid her messing with his hair. “So, you ready to see your village again?”

“Kind of.” Stiles sighed. “I’m obviously looking forward to seeing Scott and my dad, I mean, but I can’t figure out how I’m going to act around them. Like, I can’t let loose that I’m literally living with supernatural shapeshifters, but it’s going to be hard to cover up.”

Boyd nodded, then tilted his head curiously. “What will you tell them?”

“Haven’t decided yet.” Stiles settled on his back, throwing an elbow under his neck. A few moments later he felt a press against his side, and opened his eyes to see Derek grumbling beside him until Stiles waved a hand through his fur to stroke him. He found it funny, sometimes, how dog-like Derek was, but he’d learned not to point it out. He had been bitten enough times to avoid the same mistake of calling him a “good little puppy” by now.

Even if he was _totally_ right.

“Something heroic, probably,” he continued. “About how I fought off an entire pack of wolves with my bare hands and survived.”

“Because _that’s_ believable.”

“Thank you, Malia.” Malia just shrugged. “And I’ll think of something. Where will you guys be while I’m with my dad?”

“Around,” Cora said vaguely, then laughed when Stiles frowned at her. “We’ll be nearby. Just in case something goes wrong.”

“What could go wrong? If there’s one place I’m fine, it’s my village.”

Erica groaned, rubber her temple. “Don’t tempt fate, Stiles! Do you _want_ to jinx us?”

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles said. “I’ll stop to say goodbye and come right back. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

At his feet, Derek whined and huffed, and Stiles scratched his ears again until he forgot all about it.

They travelled one day more before finally stopping, close enough to the village that Derek wasn’t worried Stiles would get lost on the way there. Which, for his information, Stiles totally _wouldn’t have,_ but he still appreciated it.

He turned around, ready to say something, only to find his arms filled with a clingy Isaac. He laughed, wrapping the boy in a tight hug until they pulled apart.

“I’ll miss you too, Isaac.”

“Just don’t get yourself killed,” Isaac said, sniffing. “Derek’ll never get off our backs if you do.”

“Good too see your heart’s in the right place,” he joked, then turned to hug Erica. He sent a questioning look to Boyd who just glared at him, and they settled for a pat on the shoulder.

When Stiles turned around again, Cora was standing in front of him. “You have your knife,” she said, “so make sure you use it if things get hairy.”

“Why are you guys so convinced something bad is going to happen?”

“You attract bad luck,” Malia said, smirking.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m really feeling the love here, guys. Thank you!”

He didn’t manage to get away without one more big, and worryingly _tight_ , hug before he leaned down to Derek.

Derek’s face was impenetrable, and not just because he was a wolf. Stiles had gotten to know him over the months, to recognised all of his facial queues, and right now he could tell Derek was trying to ensure Stiles didn’t know what he was thinking.

“I’m not abandoning you guys,” Stiles told him. “Firstly because I don’t want to, and secondly because I’m pretty sure Cora would hunt me down and skin me for breaking a promise like that. I’ll be safe there and I’m just going to make sure my dad’s alright.”

Derek didn’t react, and Stiles poked at his face until he sneezed and broke his façade. Derek huffed, as if upset, and bumped their heads together.

“I’m taking that as a _‘sorry for being such a grouch today, Stiles, of course I trust you to be able to handle yourself away from me.’”_

Stiles stood, giving them all one last wave – and Derek one last look – before he walked into the forest.

And he walked, and walked, and walked, until he was running, and running, and running.

Until everything around him was blurred and the only thing he could focus on was the colour of tanned skin, a greying beard, wrinkles around brown eyes, and a comforting voice—

Stiles stopped.

There, standing several steps ahead of him, was his father.

He hadn’t thought that three months could change a person much, and perhaps it didn’t. But Stiles knew his dad, and he knew him well. Before, his face hadn’t had so many stress lines, and his frown wasn’t that severe. He eyes hadn’t seemed so dull, and he didn’t need to lean on a tree like it was the only thing keeping him up.

Stiles’ dad had always looked overworked, but here he looked _tired_.

He didn’t know how long he had been staring, but the moment his dad looked up it was like the world rushed back at him.

Before he knew it he was running and colliding and crying and throwing his hands over his dad.

_“Stiles!”_

The voice was choked, watery, and Stiles didn’t realise how much he had missed it. He couldn’t image never hearing that voice again, and just held his dad tighter.

“Dad,” Stiles breathed into the man’s shoulder. “Gods, Dad, I’ve missed you so much, I, I—”

“Shhh.” A hand stroked through his hair and he practically melted into the touch. “You’re okay. You’re _okay_ , Stiles, I can’t believe – fucking hell, _you’re alive!”_

“I’m alive.” Stiles laughed, pulling away to see tears in his father’s eyes.

“It’s a miracle,” the man declared. “The gods brought you back to us.”

The words soured Stiles’ smile, and he bit his lip. “It wasn’t the gods. The _gods_ didn’t save me.” _Quite the opposite,_ he thought bitterly.

His father’s brows furrowed and he cupped Stiles’ shoulder. “Then who was it? How are you alive? How are you here right now?”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Stiles told him quickly. “I just want to go to the village right now.”

“Right, yes,” he nodded, clearing his throat and trying to put on a brave face. “Let’s go home.”

As his father pulled him into one more, bone-crushing hug, Stiles thought about how calling the village ‘home’ made him feel uncomfortable.

Seeing the familiar wooden palisade protecting his village, even from afar, was breath-taking. It felt like something snapped in his chest, and he didn’t realise how much he could miss _a place_ – a location, a collection of wood and rocks that had somehow nestled themselves into his heart.

Though he couldn’t deny the pack was his new home, with no set place to rest and stay, a group of vagabonds travelling the forest, he really did miss his village.

As he and his father stepped past the palisade, the people around the village stopped and stared. He could already hear the whispers of his name, talk of miracles and even curses, and the thought made him laugh. He didn’t stop, however, following as his father led them to the chief’s ten.

Stiles looked around, caught up in memories, only to find himself in his dad’s arms again. “Dad?” he asked. “You okay?”

“Just – can’t believe you’re here. Every night I prayed you were still out there, alive, but I didn’t truly believe it.” The chief pulled away and wiped at his eye, sniffing. “How _did_ you survive? What happened that night, son?”

Stiles closed his eyes. “Dad it’s… so complicated.”

“Did someone save you?” Stiles nodded and his father’s eyes narrowed. “Are you in trouble now? Were they holding you hostage? Were they keeping you there?”

Stiles shook his head, but before he could say anything he heard a shout from behind him. He turned, frozen in place when he saw who it was.

“Stiles?” Scott asked, stepping forward cautiously. “Is that really you?”

Behind him, he could see Melissa peeking into the tent. They were all looking at him as if scared he was an illusion, that he would just disappear any minute. Stiles shook his head and used all the strength he could muster to pull his best friend into a hug.

Just as with his father, the immense relief that washed over him made him feel almost faint. They held on for a moment before Scott pulled back, poking and prodding at Stiles’ face. “Are you hurt? Are you okay? Did the wolves hurt you? How did you get away? Did you kill them? Did you—”

“Scott!” Stiles laughed, and the boy stopped. “I’m okay. _I’m okay,_ dude.”

Scott let out a breath, hugging him once more. “Thank the gods for that! I just couldn’t forgive myself, letting you go like that! I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t—”

“Scott,” Melissa chided, pulling him away. “You’re not the only one who’s missed Stiles.” She sent him a kind smile, cupping Stiles’ face and looking him over. He could see the moment she switched to ‘Nurse Melissa’, her gaze becoming critical and sharp. “You’re skinny, even skinnier than you were before. You’re not eating enough, and you certainly aren’t eating _right_. How many times have I told you to eat all your fruits and vegetables? Not to mention all these new scars and scratches you have, my gods, what have you been—”

“I’m fine!” Stiles said, subtly backing away. “Seriously, Melissa, I promise. Life is a little tough out there, but I’m fine.”

“Speaking of ‘out there,’” the chief said, catching everyone’s attention. He held Stiles’ shoulder. “You’ve yet to tell me where you have been all this time.”

Stile sighed, feeling everyone’s eyes boring into him. He understood their concern – if one of them had disappeared for almost three months after being presumed dead, he’d be eager to find out what happened, too. But Stiles didn’t know what to say.

If he told them the truth, how would they react? He remembered the bedtime stories and fairy tales he got told as a kid, of scary wolves and cursed creatures. No sane person would blindly trust that a pack of wolves wouldn’t tear him apart, not without meeting them first, and Stiles was sure it wasn’t same for the pack to be this close to the village. And what if it was the worst outcome? What if not only did they not believe him, but they thought he was being ‘brainwashed’ and went to try and hunt Derek’s pack down? He couldn’t put them in danger like that.

It seemed like he _had_ to lie, but he also didn’t want to. It almost felt cruel – he already knew he was leaving, that he’d earned his place in the pack, and it would be dishonest to disappear without telling him family and friend where he was disappearing _to_.

He wished he could just tell them the truth – that werewolves _weren’t_ evil, that they _didn’t_ kill randomly, and they certainly didn’t ask for virgin sacrifices. But would they accept that? Would they learn to trust Derek’s past just as Stiles had?

Stiles didn’t have a single clue of what to say, so when the flaps to the tent opened once more, he let out a thankful sigh.

Only to tense again. Because standing in the entrance of the tent, looking in with dark, callous eyes, was Deaton.

The man, as always, looked awfully sombre, but this time it looked as if there was a heavier weight on his shoulders. He looked tired, bone-weary, and Stiles spotted what looked like new scars around his face. When he saw Stiles he didn’t look surprised – he just looked disappointed.

“Chief,” the man said, looking past Stiles to his dad. “So the rumours are true. Stiles lives.”

“No thanks to you,” Melissa practically growled, glaring daggers at Deaton. “I _told_ you a human sacrifice wouldn’t work, but you didn’t listen to me! And poor Stiles has been out there on his own for three months, out there, in the wild! With those _wolves_ _around!”_

“It didn’t work?” Deaton asked, almost innocently. “Did we get attacked by the wolves, then?”

Melissa blinked, stumped, and Stiles felt something dark stir in his gut.

“I’m ever so sorry that it had to be Stiles of all people,” Deaton said, sending the chief an apologetic look that just made Stiles want to throw up. “But it was what the gods told me to do. And it worked. Our village remains safe.”

“Maybe so,” the chief said, and his voice was as cold as steel. “But I think you’ll understand if I ask you to stay away from my son for the next few days.”

Deaton stared at the man for a moment, and Stiles was almost sure he was about to attack him. Instead, however, Deaton just turned back to Stiles and tipped up his chin, evaluating him. Then he said, “it is good to see you alive, Stiles,” and left the tent.

They stayed inside for a few more hours, Melissa fretting over Stiles’ health and his father trying (and failing) to get information on how he’d survived. Soon enough other elders were stopping by the tent, looking Stiles up and down like he was a miracle, and before he knew it he’d been all but pushed outside to a gathering bonfire and a celebrating village.

There was food to be passed around and songs to be sung. Villagers Stiles hadn’t ever really interacted with came up to him, crying about how they missed him, how it was good that he was home. Some stayed far away, eyeing him as if he were a corpse, though Stiles could not complain.

Honestly, it was a bit overwhelming. It seemed as if not a minute passed by without a new stranger coming up to him. Allison stopped by, glued to Scott’s hip, who was glued to Stiles’, and so the trio spent practically the whole night together. His father was off talking to the other elders, likely discussing Stiles’ reappearance and what would happen now that he was staying.

At least, according to his father, he was staying. Stiles still didn’t know how to break it to him – that he was leaving, that he’d found a new home, new people. He knew the longer he waited the worse it would be, but he simply couldn’t break his father’s heart all over again.

Every time someone stopped by to welcome him ‘home’, the thought crossed his mind again, and it just got more and more painful.

Then something caught Stiles’ eye. He nudged Scott and pointed to the corner of the camp. “Scott, what’s that?”

He knew very well what it was, but he didn’t know why it was there. It was a shrine, covered in food and jewellery and feathers, with a single torch stood on top. It was a mourning shrine.

Scott followed his gaze, then grimaced. “Only a few days after you left, there was a commotion in the middle of the night. Whittemore was found dead outside the walls of the village.”

Stiles frowned. “What happened to him?”

“Murder,” Scott sighed. “Deaton confirmed that it wasn’t an animal, but he said it didn’t look like the weapons we have in the village. He let Argent scout the area and they eventually agreed it was probably bandits. Jackson… Jackson was the one who found the body. And he wouldn’t hear it – kept saying that they were wrong, that everyone was being tricked, that it was someone _inside_ the village. But after a few days he just went quiet. Guess he gave up.”

The mention of Jackson soured Stiles’ thoughts, and he looked around to find he couldn’t see the boy in the crowd. “Where is he now?”

“In his tent. Hasn’t come out since his dad’s death.” He gave Stiles a dubious look. “Why do you care? Surely you don’t want to talk to him.”

“Absolutely not,” Stiles laughed, somewhat coldly. “If I ever have to see that jackass again it’ll be too soon. Still… It just seems kind of….”

“Kind of what?” Scott asked when he trailed off, and Stiles shook his head.

“Never mind. Why are we talking about this again?”

“You were the one to bring it up,” Scott said, but seemed to realise Stiles didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “Hey, we should get drunk! You know, to celebrate you coming home!”

Stiles snorted. “No way is my dad letting me get drunk. Even if I’ve just come back from the dead.”

“I bet I could persuade him,” Scott said thoughtfully, then beamed at his girlfriend. “Or Allison! You know, Stiles, she’s really smart and persuasive and pretty—”

Stiles interrupted him before he could go on, shoving Scott’s face until he fell to the ground. “I see nothing’s changed with Scott,” he joked, sharing a grin with Allison. “Still disgustingly in love, huh?”

The girl blushed, tucking her hair behind her ear before she pulled Scott from the ground. “Get up, you,” she said, kissing his cheek. “My father’s watching you, and you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“He’s what?!” Scott paled, head snapping across the camp to where Argent was watching him with a steely glare. “Oh gods! He hates me now, he really _does_ hate me, he thinks I’m an idiot!”

As Allison tried to calm her boyfriend down, Stiles let his mind wander. To finally coming home for the first time in months, to the pack that was sure to be huddling down in the forest. To the welcome he got, to seeing his family and friends and reuniting with them.

To Whittemore, and how the last time Stiles had seen him alive, he’d been glaring at Deaton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, life? Is super freaking busy and I hate it. On another note, I kind of have a job? It's taking up a lot of work and is super tiring, so I'm just saying this to apologise for any delays! I'll keep uploading every two weeks but it might not be on Wednesdays (like today, my bad). Thanks so much for sticking with me through this because we're in the last act of this story, I'd say maybe another 5 chapters?? Don't take my word for it though lol.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Comments and kudos are the things currently keeping me alive to please don't hesitate to drop those down below <3


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